Know Thyself
by SonriaCat
Summary: After her altercation with L'Rell, Katrina wakes up in yet another Klingon holding cell. Except that this time, she's not alone: her cell mate is none other than Gabriel Lorca. A longer response to the Admiral Kat Plot Bunny List, prompt #2b. Special thanks to Nia for the beta read. Warnings: strong language, violence, offscreen rape/non-con.
1. Chapter 1

_Star Trek_ and _Star Trek: Discovery_ are the registered trademarks and copyrighted property of CBS Corporation and CBS Television Studios. This fiction item is intended for entertainment purposes only. No compensation has been received or will be accepted for it, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended or should be implied.

* * *

 **Know Thyself  
** _Chapter One_

* * *

Death came in a sensory overload. The bright sparks that danced around her created floating pinpricks of blindness across her vision; and the sizzle of arcing electrical current filled her ears until she heard nothing else. The smell of her own burning flesh was almost eclipsed by the physical pain that sent pulsing spikes through every part of her body. There was even a taste: flat and metallic, unpleasant and, like every other part of this experience, more intense than she'd thought the human body could bear.

Katrina had no idea how long L'Rell held her against the power stanchion before letting go.

It really didn't matter. As her legs buckled and she fell to the floor, her entire awareness was consumed by the fact that electrocution hurt _everywhere_ , leaving her with no part of her body she could focus on to seek respite. There wasn't even anything available within her mind: her disjointed and hazy thoughts kept her from forming more than the most fleeting thoughts. It was impossible to build up any barriers strong enough to push the pain aside.

But she shouldn't need to, should she? The pain was supposed to give way to a white light, a sense of peace, an end to all feelings of physical suffering.

In the early twenty-first century, medical researchers had learned that consciousness often survived for seconds or even minutes after physical death. The discovery had explained the phenomenon of near-death experiences, but her understanding had always been that the brief period of awareness after death was painless. Anecdotal evidence had been nearly universal about that, long before reliable technological sensors had confirmed it.

So why was she still hurting so badly?

A fresh arrow of pain shot down her spine without any warning, dragging her away from her thoughts about the moment of death. It was followed by the feeling of something jerking, but that faded before she found the strength to even open her eyes, replaced by scraping sensations on her face and arms. They weren't pleasant, but compared against the pain she'd felt moments before, they were bearable.

There was still no white light, but perhaps, she thought, the lack of pain once someone died was subjective. Dying simply hurt so much that death was a relief; and unlike most, she wasn't dying in a hospital with its bright lighting.

It was the first coherent thought that Katrina managed to form and keep long enough to hold on to. But it was enough, and it carried her through as her conscious awareness wavered and faded. Despite the fact that she knew it was the last time, she didn't fight it. She could give in. She could allow herself emotional peace.

This was a more than fitting end for a Starfleet admiral.

* * *

There was something on her cheek.

The automatic pull of her facial muscles into a frown was agonizing enough to drag her back into her surroundings. But this wasn't right. She was dead, wasn't she? There shouldn't be any perceivable consciousness left. Even some of Earth's major religions taught that human awareness in the afterlife worked entirely differently than it did before death.

Katrina had never been religious; she'd only studied the topic in the context of its usefulness for clinical treatment. As such, she hadn't really believed there was an afterlife. But she'd never dismissed the idea completely, either. Perhaps this was, indeed, some sort of altered state of consciousness that humans entered after death.

There were all sorts of theories about those, both secular and otherwise.

None of them, though, had suggested that physical sensation might continue, leaving the pressure against her face unexplained. It was light, but definite, as it moved from her cheek to her chin, tilting her head back and tugging her mouth open.

The feeling of something sealing around her lips brought with it the sudden need to breathe. The first inhale was a gasp and felt like knives slicing through her chest from the inside. It was enough to not want to do it again, but the autonomous reflex took control and her lungs kept reaching for air anyway. She choked and spluttered, trying and failing to curl up on her side to relieve the pain, and only then realized that the pressure had moved back to her forehead.

"That's it. Come on, breathe for me. Good. Good."

First touch, then breath, and now hearing? This was nothing like any afterlife she'd ever heard described. Surely there should be _something_ she'd read about before, shouldn't there?

"Guess you didn't need to do the rescue breathing after all, sir."

There was a chuckle. "It figures. She'd never have forgiven me for the embarrassment."

The spasms were fading, and Katrina's body settled back against whatever it had been lying on. She concentrated on her breathing, listening to the sound of her own breath as it whooshed in and out, trying to ignore the awful smell that was filling her nostrils. It wasn't the burned flesh she expected. It was something wet, fetid and rotting, and it was completely entrenched in her surroundings.

Could it be hell? She didn't believe in that, either, but she if she'd been wrong about an afterlife, she might have been wrong about that. Still, there was no fire, no brimstone, no bite of acid or sulfur against the back of her throat. And weren't the condemned supposed to know, beyond a doubt, that they had been banished? She wasn't completely sure.

Gradually, she became aware that her own breathing wasn't the only one she heard. She listened cautiously and thus was able to figure out there were at least two other people near her. One of them was clearly having trouble breathing. The other wasn't, but the pattern was still ragged and uneven, hitching every few breaths. As she listened, it slowly smoothed itself out.

Then there was the sound of cloth rustling, and the hand on her forehead slid upward, stroking her hair for a long moment before it withdrew.

"Sir? Do you think we should try to wake her the rest of the way up?"

"No, she's fine now and look: there's movement underneath her eyelids. She'll come out of it on her own when she's ready. We probably shouldn't try to force it unless she stops breathing again." There was a long sigh. "You know what's ironic? She's the one who taught me that."

"You know this admiral, sir?"

"Yeah." The dry chuckle came again. "Oh, yeah. I know her. But I have no clue what she's doing here."

There was something about that drawl, something achingly familiar, but she rejected her mind's first conclusion as being impossible and instead focused once again on her breathing. It was easier, now, and with a long sigh she let herself slide back into unconsciousness. Maybe she'd see the white light when she fully woke into the afterlife.

Except that nobody had ever told her the dead could dream.

* * *

The light, when it came, wasn't white. It had a distinct yellow-orange tint, and was so bright as to be blinding. She reached full awareness with her own scream echoing above an incredible roaring in her ears, feeling an excruciating tightness around her upper arms and under one knee. Hands? No, she thought. This was far too painful for that.

"Shh. Shh. It's okay. We're only trying to help you — damn it, Katrina! Stop _fighting!_ "

There was a tremendous jolt near her tailbone, as if she'd landed hard, and then another one at the back of her head. She grayed out for a split second but came back almost immediately.

"…wasn't such a good idea after all, sir," came another voice. She'd heard it before, and recently. But it was nowhere near recognizable.

"Yeah, well, we can't just leave her lying on the deck like that." This voice, the first one, was the one she _had_ recognized before, the one she'd assigned an impossible identity simply because it was the only way her mind could make sense of all this madness.

That was the most logical explanation, anyway, and the pain was beginning to subside into a dull throb, freeing her mind enough to start forming more coherent thoughts. She managed to push enough air through her lungs to whisper it out loud. "I'm not dead?"

"Ah, God." Another rustle of cloth echoed through her ears, and there was that pressure on her face again, the briefest trace of fingers against her jaw. Pain arrowed in its wake. "You're awake."

"Not dead." She made it a statement this time.

"No. You're alive." There was a sigh. "Though I don't know if that's actually the better option right now."

So that was why there hadn't been any white lights, any peaceful feelings, the end of any pain. It took an incredible effort to open her eyes, and an even harder one to keep them that way once the light burst in through them. She felt tears beginning to leak from them. "Lights. Down. Please."

"Would that we could. But it's not that bright in here."

"Very. Please." She closed her eyes again, trying to drag a hand up to cover them. The light. The _light_. Was this what Gabriel had gone through, after the _Buran_ exploded?

A hand settled on her shoulder. "It probably doesn't help that you're looking right up at them. C'mon, Kat. We've got to get you sitting up. Can you move?"

 _Kat._ There was only one person in all the galaxy who called her that. But he couldn't be here, her mind insisted. He couldn't.

Another set of hands fell on the opposite shoulder. "Are we going to try again, sir?"

"Yeah. You in, Katrina?"

But her legs wouldn't move. In fact, she wasn't even certain the right one was still there, although there was no question that the left one was. Every time she so much as tensed the muscles in it, pain arced from the hip to the toes. Had some sort of an electrode gotten embedded in it somehow?

Someone shook her, gently. "Katrina? Admiral Cornwell?"

"Can't…" speaking was still a tremendous effort. "My legs."

"All right. Just try not to fight us, then. Chen, on three. One, two, three."

It was inelegant, and she wasn't entirely sure they got her completely off the floor since she there were scraping and chafing sensations on her back. The electricity must have burned her skin. But it was also blessedly brief; a quick moment of motion, and then feeling support against her back as she was helped into a sitting position. She was panting as her arms fell weakly into her lap.

But she was also fully conscious and aware. This wasn't death. It wasn't anywhere close.

Taking a deep breath, she forced her eyes open one more time. Several blinks passed before she was able to actually focus them, but apparently the electrocution hadn't left her completely blind.

Or had it? She knew only one man who had eyes that blue: the same one whose voice spoke with that lazy, familiar drawl she'd already recognized.

Katrina had had no illusions about whether or not he'd follow her orders about dialing back, but it was far too quiet in here for active combat to be going on outside. Absent that, being in Klingon space defied common sense, and while he would ignore orders without a second thought, he rarely ignored that.

" _Discovery?_ " she asked, still unable to do more than whisper.

Her companion, who she could now see was the older of two, shifted position and stretched his legs out. The way he moved was as consistent as his appearance and voice. Every bit of evidence supported it: this _was_ him. Except that Gabriel Lorca had been the one who sent her out here in the first place!

"I doubt there's much chance of that," he said now, apparently not noticing her ruminations. "It's been what, three months? Four? I've lost track of time, but it's got to be at least that long. Starfleet would've found me by now if they were going to."

That statement made no sense, but words still weren't coming easily. "Ship."

He looked away for a long moment, visibly fighting for control, and when he spoke again his voice shook. "I had to, Kat. There was no other way. I might not have gone down with the _Buran_ , but I made damn sure the Klingons only got one prisoner off of her. Just one." He raked a trembling hand through his hair. "Me."


	2. Chapter 2

_Star Trek_ and _Star Trek: Discovery_ are the registered trademarks and copyrighted property of CBS Corporation and CBS Television Studios. This fiction item is intended for entertainment purposes only. No compensation has been received or will be accepted for it, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended or should be implied.

* * *

 **Know Thyself  
** _Chapter Two_

* * *

Before she had a chance to ask any questions, the door from the outside corridor slid open and admitted two unfamiliar guards. Both her companions got to their feet, though the younger one, the one who'd been breathing too hard to speak after they'd finished sliding her up against the wall, was clearly wobbly.

The older one, the one who looked so much like Gabriel, positioned himself in front. His stance was light but sure, and he kept his hands loose but ready. Preparing for hand-to-hand combat, she realized.

One of the guards surveyed the three of them before speaking. His accent was so thick that the words were almost incomprehensible. "Choose your pain."

"Me," said the pseudo-Gabriel immediately.

"Not you. The half-breed's pet." He looked around again. " _Choose_ your pain."

His eyes fell first on the younger officer, and then on Katrina, and he started moving around toward her. Before she had a chance to protest, the older officer circled around, matching him. The Klingon chuckled, turning to clomp over toward the younger male officer and dragging him forward. He struggled, but it was futile, and the effort knocked him to his knees.

"No, damn it!" The pseudo-Gabriel charged him, but the other guard caught him into a bear hug long enough to throw him to the floor. Even as he scrambled up, the first guard dropped his burden and proceeded to give it a vicious kick in the ribs. The second guard, the one who'd stopped her protector, joined in, using the hilt of his weapon to deal their victim a blow to the head. He immediately collapsed into unconsciousness.

"Leave him alone! He's too weak!" But the guards brushed him off as easily if he were an annoying insect and concentrated on the beating. Katrina closed her eyes, but the sickening sounds echoed in her ears. She heard the dull, wet thud of blows landing, and more than once the crack of bones. There were shuffled footsteps, and a couple of groans, and the sound of a body hitting the floor one more time.

Then there was a new sound, a longer crack, followed by a malignant silence.

It was broken by a snarl. "God _damn_ you. I told you to leave him alone."

Cautiously, Katrina opened her eyes, blinking them against the light. In the middle of the room, the younger officer lay far too still. She'd thought she was dead before, but she wasn't. On the other hand, he really was.

The officer who looked so much like Gabriel was on his hands and knees in the corner, panting. There were new bruises on his face, but they all appeared to be superficial. The look in his eyes was much worse.

One of the guards spat loudly. "Weak human." Then they dragged the body out of the room, letting the door close behind them. After a long moment, her remaining companion made his way over to her, shifting around to a sitting position.

"Chen Ying-kuo," he said. "Lieutenant. Last posted as a security officer on the _Kerala_. Died in the line of duty, if I have anything to say about it." He buried his face in his hands. "One more name to add to the list. It's getting too damn long."

She found enough strength to slide a hand toward him, though he was too far away for her to make contact. "What just happened here?"

He picked his head up, revealing a mouth hardened into a thin, angry line. "They come in every few days and make the prisoners choose who gets a beating. It's meant to keep them from forming alliances. Problem is, they're running out of prisoners."

"You volunteered," she managed.

"I know." Anguish glittered in his eyes. "Sometimes they'll leave one alone for a while, give them a chance to heal up. Chen wasn't quite there yet. And I could've handled it, I think. But they…" he trailed off, swallowing. "They won't touch me. Damn her. Damn them all straight to hell. And now they have you. Why are you here, Katrina? What happened?"

"Captured."

His lips twisted. "Obviously. But how'd they get to you? Admirals don't go out on the front lines."

"Peace talks."

That earned a snort. "With Klingons? Starfleet really must be getting desperate. Why'd they send you, though? Shouldn't it have been an ambassador?"

"Was originally Sarek." Speaking was getting a little easier, but it still wasn't coming as smoothly as she liked. "Ship went into distress. You know that."

"I do?"

"Rescue mission. Against orders."

He looked at her for a long moment before shaking his head. "It's been a while since I've done either. But you just woke up a little while ago. Maybe you're still a bit confused."

"Not about that," she told him, but he answered with a skeptical tilt of his eyebrows.

He also apparently decided to change the subject. "I said I've lost track of time. Have you? How long have I been in here? How long since…since the _Buran_ was destroyed?"

"Six months."

" _Six months?_ That's impossible. Nobody survives six months in a Klingon prison!"

"I know," she said. "So who are you?"

"Oh, come on. You know who I am. Gabriel Lorca. Captain in Starfleet."

"Captain, yes. Of the _Discovery_."

His expression turned incredulous. "Is that what you meant when you said that? It's a ship? But I've never even heard of it!" He pushed to his feet, agitated enough to start pacing. "That's why Starfleet never came after me, though. Isn't it? They don't even know I'm in here, because there's an imposter or something out there."

"Is there." She didn't quite make it a question, but when he turned around again, she saw he'd picked up the implication anyway. Katrina met his eyes again, watching, as comprehension slowly turned into horror.

* * *

He paced for another couple of minutes, hands alternately scrubbing at his face and hair, before sitting back down next to her. "Okay. I know why you think I'm the imposter, but I can prove it's him. Ask me something only I would know." He paused. "Something not in our service records."

She took a long breath, noticing that it was becoming easier. The lights were still too bright and everything was still too loud, but that, too, was becoming more tolerable. Soon, hopefully, she'd manage normal speech as well.

"Night we watched the Perseids," she said, glad to hear she was at least up to full phrases. "Where was it?"

"Perseids?" His face screwed up in thought. "Oh. The meteor showers that happen every summer on Earth, in the Northern Hemisphere. Those Perseids?"

She nodded.

He shook his head. "We've never watched those, Kat. You're remembering a time we went out and watched meteors on Canopus. But it was winter, not summer. The air outside was absolutely freezing. We both kept shivering for twenty minutes even after we came back inside, and that was why I got out that bottle of Scotch. Which, God, that was a mistake, even though it'd been an amazing show. We drank it too fast, and ended up so drunk that…" he trailed off, and a faint flush appeared. "We tried to…you know. But we couldn't. Neither one of us. Why'd you have to go and pick _that_ memory?"

Despite her own embarrassment, she could feel her shoulders beginning to relax. On the _Discovery_ , its captain had deflected her remarks about meteor-watching. She'd figured it was because he was either being too polite to correct her, or hadn't wanted to break the mood by bringing up the fact that the night had ended in a disastrous attempt at lovemaking.

Her companion was watching her. "I got it right. Didn't I?"

"Yeah," she admitted. "Chose it on purpose. Not our best hour. Definitely not on record."

"Good point. Now let me ask you one. We ran into each other once, while you were in Command School. Where?"

She'd never forgotten. "Pastry shop in the Old Town."

"You can't admit to that one on record, either, can you? You'd gone there to study, but since it wasn't on Starfleet property, you weren't supposed to have confidential materials with you. Except you needed them to study."

"That's right," she said.

"That's two," he countered. "Two things only the real Gabriel Lorca would know. Do you believe it's me now, or do you want a third one?"

"Doesn't make sense."

"That wasn't what I asked."

She let her head fall back against the wall. "Have to warn Starfleet. But we can't."

"One problem at a time." In another familiar gesture, he pinched the bridge of his nose. "We need to get out of here first. Does 'Fleet know you were captured? Will there be a rescue attempt, do you think?"

"They know," she answered. "Heard the message. But…" she trailed off, sighing. " _Discovery_ 's captain won't want me rescued. Might sit on the information."

"He _what?_ Why would he ever do something like that? And how can you believe something isn't wrong, if he would? No matter how much we argued, I'd never have —"

"I know," she interrupted. "Red flag. He knew I saw it. Told him I wanted him in counseling. Offered to keep it informal if he did it on his own." She sighed. "Implied I'd be formal if he didn't."

"Yeah, okay, that likely would've scared him. If anyone was going to figure out he wasn't me, it would've been you."

"That a compliment?"

"Mostly." But he was thinking now. "Mostly I guess it means we're going to be on our own getting out of here. There's got to be a way." He shook his head. "Six months. I still can't believe it. Did they…" he trailed off. "My crew's families? How are they?"

That question convinced her more than any questions about the past would have. Gabriel's concern about his crew had always extended well beyond their uniforms. In fact, that had been one of the warning signs she'd seen aboard the _Discovery_ : it just wasn't like him to see those under his command as nothing more than tools to be used, a means toward an end.

"Sorry." She took a breath. "Don't know specifics. But would've gotten support from 'Fleet."

"Yeah, I'm sure they did. It's just…" he trailed off again. "Just like Chen. I've failed them. Every single one."

"Don't," she chided, but she kept it soft.

"I know. It's just hard not to get to thinking when you're stuck with nothing else to do." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "If Starfleet doesn't know we're here, they're not going to look. Maybe we can try to find a way to send them a message. As if that'd be any easier than escaping."

"Might be," she told him.

"How so?"

"The female Klingon. L'Rell. Wants to defect. Might get us access to a comm."

His eyes widened. " _L'Rell_ told you she wants to defect?"

Katrina nodded.

"She's lying." The statement was flat, final, his tone brooking no argument.

She did anyway. "Seemed pretty sincere to me. You know her?"

He laughed, but it was a small, bitter one. "Oh, yes. I know her. She —" he broke off. "Trust me, Katrina. She's playing games with you."

"So sure of that?"

To her surprise, he dropped his eyes and shifted away from her slightly. "Yeah. I am."

"How?"

"I just _know_ , all right? I — she —" he broke off again. "I can't. I'm sorry. Not even with you. But please, you have to believe me. Please." He looked back up at her, and her surprise became profound shock: there were tears standing in his eyes. "That's what she does. She uses people."

* * *

There was a time to keep pushing, and a time when pushing meant risking damage to whatever relationship existed between counselor and patient, or commander and soldier, or even just between two old, dear friends. Long experience with Gabriel had taught Katrina exactly where that line lay between them; and right now, she was standing right at the edge of it.

Obviously, L'Rell was a sore topic, and while she needed to understand why, for the moment she squelched her questions.

"Hey," she said, managing to gentle her voice despite the continued difficulty in speaking. "Breathe. Don't have to talk about it."

His fists clenched and loosened. "But we need to. I know that."

"Doesn't have to be right now." She shifted position, and he mirrored the action, remaining close to her but still just outside her reach. He'd been doing that the whole time, she realized. Aside of the contact required to help her, he was avoiding any possibility of touch. That wasn't like him. While he'd always kept things appropriate in public, in private he'd loved to both touch and be touched.

The fact that the _Discovery_ 's captain hadn't hesitated to reach out to her didn't mean he wasn't still an imposter.

"You're thinking," said Gabriel. "I can see it."

"Wondering who it is on the _Discovery_."

He shook his head. "There's no way to tell right now. Like I said, one crisis at a time."

"I know." She looked around the chamber again. "We the only two left?"

"Yeah. There've been others, but…" he trailed off. "Chen was the last one. He'd been here a while, though not as long as me. I'd say six weeks, but that was back when I thought I'd been here for no more than three or four months. Still, he held on. I tried to do what I could to deflect those guards, but —"

"Stop." When he did, looking up, she continued. "Exactly. Did everything you could. Can't ask anyone for more. Not even yourself."

He nodded, although the skin around his eyes was still tight. "It'll be at least a day or two before they come back and repeat that little performance."

"Will they feed us?" That, she thought triumphantly, had come out as a complete sentence.

"If they feel like it. Which is usually, but I can't recommend the cuisine. Or the chef."

That sarcastic comment definitely sounded like the Gabriel she knew, and despite the circumstances she nearly smiled in response. "Guess I'll just rest here, then."

Chuckling, he took off his jacket and rolled it up, offering it to her as a pillow. "If you need anything, say so. Even if it's a trip to the head or something. It's not like I've not seen you in there before."

This time, she knew, she was the one with the faint flush across her face, but any retort she might have managed died on her lips when the door slid open again. "Thought you said they'd leave us alone."

He got to his feet and faced them, and when he spoke, his voice was low and dangerous. "What now?"

The lead guard beckoned to a third one, who came in with a food tray. With a disdainful look at her, he slammed it down on the table in the middle of the room and stalked out.

"Fine," said Gabriel. "We'll eat. Send our compliments to the kitchen."

"Food is for that one," said the first guard, pointing. He and the other one stepped forward, taking his upper arms. "You eat with the half-breed."

"What, is she bored again already?" But he didn't seem to be resisting as hard as he could have. "I can walk. At least put the tray down beside the admiral first. She's hurt, in case you haven't noticed."

"No. You come now."

"Where are they taking you?" asked Katrina.

He shook his head. "I'll be fine. Don't wait up."

"That's not what I —" the door closed before she could finish the sentence, leaving her alone with the food tray on the table. Contemplating it, she wondered if she could simply wait until he got back.

No, she realized. The provisions here were disgusting enough when freshly prepared. They'd be far worse if she let them cool to the point of becoming a congealed mess; in fact, that could even lead to spoilage.

Okay, then.

Her arms were still weak, and the lingering hypersensitivity from the electrocution made it doubly painful, but somehow she managed to drag herself over to the floor underneath the table. She paused there, panting as she stared up at the bench. Her arms were shaking from exertion, and her legs were still useless. There was no way she would make it up there.

Fine. She'd have to get it down here. It took three tries at stretching up and scrabbling her hands around the top of the table before she made contact with the tray. It took another two before she managed to catch hold of it well enough to move it, and a third to get it over to the edge. She had to stop for another moment after that, to catch her breath for the final attempt.

When she made it, the tray flipped upside down, spilling the food everywhere. Katrina swore softly. It'd been bad enough to have to drag herself over to begin with. Now she had to eat off a _floor?_ One that was likely nowhere near clean?

Her lips thinned. Regardless of quality, the food was sustenance, and she needed that too badly to be picky. Reaching out, she scooped up a handful and shoved it into her mouth, swallowing quickly before she could think too hard about the circumstances.

Leaving the tray on the table had, no doubt, been an attempt at mild psychological torture. But now that she was conscious, and recovering, she had defenses against such things. Choking back another handful, she focused her mind elsewhere, mentally cataloging and reviewing the information she'd picked up since waking up in this second holding room.

If only they'd had enough time to come back around to the topic of L'Rell.

She frowned, remembering something the Klingon had mentioned. _By blood, I am a daughter of two houses_ , she'd said. _But in my heart, I am only of one: T'Kuvma's._

Daughter of two houses. Would that have translated into "half-breed"? Gabriel had referred to his tormentor as a female. _They won't touch me_ , he'd said bitterly. _Damn her._

Was that why he'd shut down at the mere mention of her name, unable to verbalize whatever memory had come back? What kind of experience could be so traumatic as to cause that kind of reaction?

She caught her breath as it hit her.

It was the same kind of experience that could also make him averse to touch.


	3. Chapter 3

_Star Trek_ and _Star Trek: Discovery_ are the registered trademarks and copyrighted property of CBS Corporation and CBS Television Studios. This fiction item is intended for entertainment purposes only. No compensation has been received or will be accepted for it, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended or should be implied.

* * *

 **Know Thyself  
** _Chapter Three_

* * *

She wasn't sure what, exactly, had startled her out of her doze; nor was she sure how long it had been since she'd drifted off, her head pillowed on the jacket Gabriel had left behind. Regardless, when Katrina awoke she opened her eyes to discover she wasn't alone: L'Rell was squatting near her feet.

"Admiral," she greeted. "It is good to see you awake."

She eyed the other woman, remaining cautious. "No thanks to you."

"I thought we had reached an understanding."

"So did I." Katrina shifted position in a way that emphasized her legs' lack of motion. "But I hadn't expected anything like this."

L'Rell hesitated. "I was perhaps a bit too enthusiastic."

"Perhaps."

"I could arrange for one of our physicians to examine and treat you, if you would like."

"Somehow I suspect human medicine isn't their specialty." They had repaired damage to the other prisoners that had come before, of course, but injuries like hers were notoriously tricky. She'd be better off waiting for a properly trained expert.

At least she was able to speak in complete sentences again.

"It is your choice," said L'Rell. She gestured toward Katrina's left. "I have returned your companion."

She'd never thought the presence of Gabriel Lorca could ever escape her notice, but it had. One look told her why: he was utterly still, curled into a semi-fetal position with his eyes closed. Despite the lack of visibility that created, she could still see the fresh scratches and bruises on his skin. Very few of them had been there when he'd left.

The livid bite mark on one side of his neck definitely hadn't been.

It took several sharp breaths before she was certain she could keep her temper under control. "What did you _do_ to him?"

"Nothing he did had not already agreed to before."

"Agreed to? He's your prisoner!"

"He did not fight me."

"That doesn't mean he truly chose it!" Despite her determination to stay under control — Gabriel wasn't the only prisoner in this room — her voice was rising. "How dare you? How _could_ you? Humans and Klingons aren't even physically compatible!"

To her surprise, L'Rell appeared honestly confused. "I do not understand."

"And what about the cause of Klingon purity?" Her fists were clenching. "You truly aren't what I thought you were."

That earned her a haughty look. "I am Klingon. I would not be so dishonorable."

"You're also a spy and a liar," seethed Katrina. She had to end this, now, before she said or did something dangerous. "I knew that before. I didn't know you were a rapist. Get out."

"As you yourself pointed out, you are prisoners here."

" _I don't care! Get out!"_

L'Rell stood. "We have an agreement, Admiral. It would behoove you to remember that."

Somehow, Katrina managed to hold back her temper until the door had slid shut behind her. Another look at Gabriel, though, left her unable to keep it from coming out anyway. "Agreement cancelled, you fucking bitch."

* * *

Gabriel's eyes were open, but he had neither moved nor acknowledged the presence of others during the entire exchange with L'Rell. Katrina used her arms to drag herself within reach, noting absently that it was getting easier to move around without the use of her legs. She was uncertain whether that was a good thing or not.

That question really didn't matter right now. "Gabriel," she whispered.

Still no response.

"Gabriel, it's me. Katrina. We're alone. L'Rell's gone."

He blinked slowly, but remained in the semi-fetal position where he'd been left.

"Come on, stay with me. Tell me what happened." It'd be sickening, no doubt, but if he was strong enough to endure it, then she'd make herself be strong enough to listen.

His eyes fell closed.

"Uh-uh, don't do that. Talk to me."

He'd gone utterly still again. She sighed, knowing full well he was neither asleep nor unconscious. This was catatonia, or something close to it. No doubt he'd been here before — this obviously wasn't the first time something like this had happened — but she had no idea how long it might take, assuming this hadn't been the one that finally pushed him completely past his breaking point.

 _Not if I have anything to say about it._

She contemplated him for a while, going over crisis response methodologies in her head. The pharmacological ones were out, for obvious reasons, and if he wasn't even listening to her then traditional, cognitive-based crisis counseling wasn't going to be effective either. She'd need something more immediate, something that likely required touch even though he'd displayed an understandable aversion to it.

Scooting closer, she picked up his nearest hand, stroking it gently before curling it around hers. There was no visual evidence of response, but the muscles under her fingers displayed a normal level of resistance.

Katrina took a breath. It'd been years since she'd tried this particular approach, which was still considered esoteric. But at the very least, it wouldn't hurt him, so if it didn't work she could simply try something else.

"Gabriel. Even though you've been hurt badly, it's over, and you survived. You're strong enough to recover." She tapped two fingers against the outside edge of his hand, keeping rhythm with her speech. "You've been hurt badly." The briefest of pauses. "You've been hurt badly."

Was that the slightest of shivers she felt?

Shifting position, she moved her hand to the top of his head, maintaining the tapping rhythm there in sync with her words. "You've been hurt badly." She moved to just above his eyebrows. "You've been hurt badly."

His position and her injuries made it difficult to reach all ten of the energy points, but she managed somehow, and when it was over she assessed him again. He'd shifted to a more comfortable position, and while his eyes were still closed his breathing had eased.

"Gabriel?" she asked him. "You there? Do you know who I am? Where you are? Can you see that L'Rell's gone?"

He twitched, opening his eyes. After a moment, they moved over to focus on her and his lips moved, although he didn't actually produce anything related to a word.

"All right. Want to try again?" She picked his hand back up. "Even though you've been hurt badly, it's over, and you survived. You're strong enough to recover. You're strong enough to recover. You're strong enough to recover."

He was definitely beginning to tremble a little as she slid her hand up to the point at the top of his head. "You're strong enough to recover." Then, again, to just above his eyebrows. "You're strong enough to recover." It was a little easier to finish this sequence, moving through the points around his eyes, to his collar bone, under his arm, and then finally back to his wrist and hand.

When she finished and began to pull back, his hand convulsed, wrapping itself around hers, and she heard the faintest of whispers. "Katrina?"

"I'm here, Gabriel. It's just me. We're still stuck in this holding cell, but nobody else is here." She paused. "Are you listening? We're safe enough for now. You've been hurt badly, but it's over, and you're strong enough to recover." Repetition, she reminded herself. Drive the point home.

He blinked several times, and his eyes began to fill. One tear broke free, sliding down his face, and it took every bit of control she had not to wipe it away. If he was going to find his way out of this, he had to acknowledge the negative feelings. "Come on. That's right. You can do this."

"Katrina." It was a statement this time. "Kat. It is you. But she —" his voice broke. "Oh, _God._ "

"It's over," she repeated. "It's over, and she's not here right now, and you've survived. You're strong enough to make it through." She couldn't quite keep her own voice even and clinical. Not with him. "You're strong enough. You hear me? Don't you give up on me. You've been hurt badly, but you can recover. You'll survive. We'll survive. We have not been defeated. We are not broken yet."

"Not broken yet," he repeated, and then, without warning, he wrapped himself completely around her, burying his face against her neck. She let herself be pushed back by the momentum, all the way flat on the floor again, and slid her arms around him, holding as tightly as she could. "Gabriel. _Gabriel_. It's over, you're safe, you survived. And you're not alone. I'm here. I'm _here_."

His body shook as he sobbed.

* * *

If anyone saw them right now, there would be allegations and insinuations, accusations of inappropriate behavior and improper provider-patient contact. Katrina didn't care. This situation fit the very definition of "extenuating circumstances," and she'd never willingly taken Gabriel on as a patient anyway. They'd moved past the point where she could be unbiased very soon after their first meeting.

Pulling him close, she rubbed his back, turning her head to whisper affirmations into his hair. "It's over, Gabriel, and I'm here. I'm here. You're safe now, and you can work through it. Let it out. It's all right. I'm here."

Despite their personal relationship, she'd never seen him cry like this before, but then again, she'd never seen him immediately after this sort of trauma, either. She had no idea how long they lay there on the deck, wrapped around each other, before his shudders began to lessen and she felt him starting to regain control. Even after he did, though, he didn't withdraw from her touch the way he had before. One arm found its way around her waist as he propped himself up on the opposite elbow.

"I'm sorry," he finally managed.

"For what?"

"For being…" he trailed off. "I don't know, I guess. For falling apart."

"Hey." She tilted his chin until their eyes met. "Don't. You heard me."

He shook his head. "I'm not hurt. Not really. Just bruises and scratches. They'll heal."

" _Gabriel_. You know better than that."

He closed his eyes, and a last, straggling tear slid from one down his cheek. "Yeah. I guess I do. But it's my own fault."

"I'd love to hear how you got to that conclusion."

"Because I've encouraged her." He sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. "When I figured out that she was…she was curious, I saw a way out. A way to survive, to stay alive until I could figure out how to escape. So I…" his voice began to tremble. "I encouraged her. Played along, except that I never quite gave her everything she wanted. Kept her guessing, kept her wondering if there was more. Used every trick I could come up with, up to and including acting like I loved every minute of what was going on."

"So that's how you've made it this long," she said softly. "You made the right choice."

"Did I? Because sometimes…sometimes there were times I've thought I did like it. When I…when I was the one to initiate something, not her. With a _Klingon_ , for God's sake. I'm disgusting."

"No," she corrected, letting some sharpness into her tone. "You were still a prisoner. It was still coerced. You were only doing what you had to do to survive and stay alive. I can even argue that you were following orders."

Surprise was plain in his eyes. "I what?"

"General Order Eighteen, for Starfleet officers. Article Three. Don't you remember it?"

"Of course I do. But —"

"Then quote it for me."

He gave her an incredulous look, but complied. "'If captured, I will continue to resist by all means available. I will make every effort to escape and to aid others to escape. I will accept neither parole nor special favors from the enemy.' But I did. I —"

She interrupted. "No, you didn't. Article IV. 'If I become a prisoner of war, I will keep faith with my fellow prisoners. I will give no information or take part in action which might be harmful to my comrades. If I am senior, I will take command.' You tried to defend Chen when they came for him. Was he the only one?"

"Well, no, but —"

"And did you ever actually give L'Rell any information she could use against the other prisoners in here?"

"Of course not!" he answered with no little amount of heat. "I was trying to protect them and _get_ information I could use to help us escape." Then he paused, and his expression changed as he made the connection. "Oh. _Oh._ Damn. I'd never thought about it like that. It's not special treatment when you have an agenda. I just…why didn't I figure that out on my own?"

"You would have, sooner or later." She pushed hair back from where it had fallen onto his forehead. "You probably just needed to get out from being stuck in the middle of it first. Cut yourself some slack, Gabriel."

He nodded, but the long breath he took had some residual shakiness. "Easier said than done."

"I know. Believe me." Her back twinged, and she shifted slightly to relieve it. She'd thought she'd been subtle enough to escape his notice, but his features sharpened anyway.

"You're flat on your back again, and that hurts, doesn't it? Damn it, Kat, why didn't you say something?"

She met his eyes. "This was more important."

His lips thinned, but he didn't argue. "Okay. But let's get you back up now. Come on." Rolling to his knees, he supported and assisted her as she dragged her body back toward the bulkhead. The effort left her panting with exertion, but she had to admit it'd been easier with help than it would have been on her own.

Not just physically, either. The feeling of Gabriel's arm as he tucked it around her shoulders, pulling her against him, was just as much an emotional comfort as a tactile one. She closed her eyes, relaxing against his side and simply letting herself enjoy this moment of sanity and peace amidst their terrifying surroundings.

"Kat?"

"Hmm?"

"What was that you did? With the tapping, the patting? I've…" he sighed again. "That's not the first time I've gone out of it after…afterward. But it's probably the fastest I've ever come back."

"Therapeutic technique," she explained. "It's one of the things we can teach a patient to do for themselves, as a way to process negative thoughts. If they seem amenable to the idea, anyway. A good many of them think it's silly."

"Yeah, I guess I can see why. But it worked. Except that you were the one doing it, not me."

"Adaptation." She traced his hand with hers. "You're not my patient. You can't be. But I can still teach it to you, if you want."

"I think I do. But…" he trailed off again, taking his hand away from hers so that he could use it to trace her jawline, gently turning her face to meet his. "There's something else, something we've never done. L'Rell and me, I mean. Because Klingons don't. But you're not a Klingon. You —" he broke off. "Never mind. It's stupid."

"I think we're well past the point of any pride. Or pretense. It's just me, Gabriel. Go on and ask."

He looked away for a moment, but then met her eyes again, though she could feel a tremble in his fingers. "All right. Will you…would you kiss me, Katrina?"

* * *

 _The method Katrina uses in this chapter is based on Emotional Freedom Tapping. I've taken a bit of artistic license with it, and for the sake of full disclosure should note that the majority of medical experts consider it pseudo-scientific._


	4. Chapter 4

_Star Trek_ and _Star Trek: Discovery_ are the registered trademarks and copyrighted property of CBS Corporation and CBS Television Studios. This fiction item is intended for entertainment purposes only. No compensation has been received or will be accepted for it, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended or should be implied.

* * *

 **Know Thyself  
** _Chapter Four_

* * *

It was tempting. She turned her face into his hand, taking a long moment to relish the touch. It was gentle, non-demanding and felt nothing at all like the way things had on the _Discovery_. Of course, this wasn't the same person who'd touched her there. She needed to remember that.

Which meant, she realized with a pang, there was only one answer she could give him. "No."

His hand dropped away, and his eyes opened wide, startled. "I'm sorry, then. I shouldn't have presumed —"

"Gabriel," she interrupted, wishing her voice were steadier. "I won't kiss you. But you can kiss me, if you want. If you think it would help."

He stared at her for a long moment before she saw comprehension dawn in his eyes. Sexual assault, she'd explained to more than one person — including him — wasn't about desire, or libido, or indeed anything actually related to sexuality itself. It was about an abuse of power, a theft of the victim's control over their own body. That meant that one of the most important things a survivor needed was the opportunity to choose what happened next.

He brought his hand back up, tracing her jaw again and tilting her face up. "I want to," he said. "I do think it would help."

Under the circumstances, it couldn't be anything other than light and gentle, but the feel of his mouth over hers was still a reminder of all the times there had been more. Katrina shut her eyes as she returned the kiss, leaning into him while still being careful to follow his lead. He responded by turning slightly, shifting so he could cup her face in both of his hands —

— and then breaking away, gasping, sliding out of her reach.

"Gabriel?"

"I…" he trailed off, and she saw he was shuddering. "It's…"

"Okay," she said, switching from Federation Standard into English. He'd mentioned once that he'd only started learning Standard when he started school, having exclusively learned English first. The language was still comforting for him. "It's all right. Just breathe. Come on, look at me."

It was an obvious effort for him to do so.

"This is a panic attack," she said. "You've probably had them before, while you've been in here. But you're not facing this one alone. I'm here. Just focus on my voice. Can you do that?"

"Y-yeah. Except —" He gulped air.

"Except nothing. Just _focus on my voice_." She made it a command. "Listen to what I'm saying. We're still stuck in the prison cell, but the walls aren't closing in. There's nothing wrong with the oxygen supply. A few minutes ago we were talking about emotional freedom tapping. That's what that technique's called," she continued. "Can you take a deep breath yet?"

He closed his eyes, hands clenching into fists as he tried. It took two attempts.

"Good. You're doing fine. Now look at me again."

When he did, she saw the sheen of tears had returned to his eyes. "I don't understand," he said.

Unfortunately, she did. "It was too much, too soon. You haven't even been back here for an hour. Take another deep breath."

He complied, and she saw his hands beginning to steady. "Except that she and I never…"

"That doesn't matter. It was the larger concept. That was enough to re-trigger the memories, at least on an unconscious level." She paused. "Gabriel, before you left, you were avoiding being touched. Did you think I didn't notice?"

He looked down at his hands. "I'd hoped not."

"Well, you weren't doing that now, and maybe that was as far as you could take it. I'm not angry or upset at you. We can try it again. But not right away, and not quite so fast." She thought for a moment. "Do you remember how to play planetary geography?"

He blinked at the non sequitur, eyes drying. "What?"

"Geography. We're still speaking English, aren't we? We can use its alphabet. You know the other rules. I name a planet. You name another one that starts with the last letter of the planet I named. Then it's my turn."

"Are you serious?"

"Very. Deneva."

"Um." He still had an incredulous look on his face. "Okay. A. Aldebaran."

Of course he would pick one that wasn't particularly easy. "Nyria."

She saw his shoulders begin to relax. "Andoria."

Under the strictest of interpretations, that wasn't allowed; Andoria was a moon, not a planet. Still, it functioned like one, and under the circumstances it would be better to allow it. "Achernar."

"Rhaandaran."

She had to think for a moment. "Nivoch."

It was his turn to think. "Hekaras."

"Sherman's Planet."

Gabriel paused. "Would that be an N, an S or a T?"

"Whichever one you want to use."

"And how long are we going to keep doing this?"

"As long as we need to," she told him. "As long as it takes. You'll know when you're settled down enough to move on. Just trust your instincts."

He gave her a long look before taking another deep breath and nodding. "All right, then. Tessik Prime."

* * *

They played for what felt like a couple of hours before Gabriel finally begged off, saying he was tired. At first, she thought it might be a ruse, but he curled up and went to sleep a few minutes later. She meant to simply watch over him and think for a while, but at some point, she must have also dropped off because she woke a good while later, blinking against the lights, wondering what had alerted her.

It only took a second to figure it out: he'd rolled onto his stomach and, in the process, rolled into her left side. Their arms had tangled together and one of his legs was thrown across her ankle.

Her lips quirked. At least there had been some progress. The problem was that her ankle had begun to cramp as a result.

"Gabriel," she whispered, not wanting to startle him if she could avoid it.

He stirred slightly.

She shifted her ankle around, wondering if there was a way to slide it out from under his leg without waking him, but that proved unsuccessful. Biting her lip, she tried a sharper yank, pulling her knee up. It worked, but unfortunately it also shook him awake. He scrambled backward, eyes widening. "Wha —?"

"Easy," she said, keeping her voice low. "It's just me."

"K-Katrina?"

"Yeah. I woke you up by mistake. Go back to sleep."

"Um." Pushing himself up on his elbows, he turned over and sat up. "Need the head."

"All right." After he vanished behind the screen, she flexed her left leg again, hissing when the expected pins-and-needles sensation turned out to be made of ice picks instead. She had to blink tears out of her eyes.

"What is it?"

She hadn't heard him come back out. "My leg. Cramping. It probably actually needs to be exercised, but…" she trailed off. "It'll probably settle back down in a few minutes."

"Did I do that?" He dropped down into a sitting position next to her knees, and despite her admonition he appeared completely awake now. "In my sleep, I mean."

"It's all right."

"Which isn't what I asked. What can I do to help?"

She tried to point her toes, but the leg's response was sluggish and she couldn't tell if she'd actually accomplished it or not. "Push the leg up toward my chest. Let's see if stretching the muscles will work."

"All right." He picked it up at the ankle, bringing the knee up toward her chest. "Like this?"

"Yeah," she gasped.

"This is hurting you, though."

"It's going to," she managed. "Keep going. A little farther back."

"You're sure? What if it's hurting you worse?"

"Farther back," she repeated. Fresh pain shot up the nerves into her lower back, but she gritted her teeth and rode it out, forcing herself to breathe evenly for twenty-five breaths. "Okay. Let it go and see if that does the trick."

It had; when he straightened the leg out and put it back down, the spikes of pain subsided into the dull ache that had been there before. "Good, then. Will you do the other one?"

He crawled over her ankles to switch sides. "Maybe this one won't hurt, since you don't have any feeling on this side."

"I wish it would. It'd mean I'm healing."

But it didn't, and she sighed after finishing the count and letting him put her leg back down. It occurred to her, as she used her arms to pull herself back up into a sitting position, that she could easily be hurting her back worse by not being as still as possible. Unfortunately, that wasn't an option in here; she needed to move around at least a little in order to get things done.

He picked up her jacket from where it had fallen beside her. "Wish I could offer you a cold drink."

Wiping her face, she shook her head. "Wouldn't be a good idea."

"I meant water, Kat."

"Oh. Yeah, that would be nice. I don't want to think too hard about it, though." That would only lead to emphasizing just how thirsty she really was. "How's are you? The scratches starting to heal up yet?"

"They itch," he said with a grimace. "Especially on my back."

"Can I take a look?"

He had to take a breath, but then he nodded, pulled his shirt over his head, and scooted around to let her see. The skin had been broken in several places, but they'd scabbed over and appeared to be healing. Still, the red around their edges might also be an infection.

"Is it all right if I touch?" she asked. "Just for a second."

There was the slightest edge of exasperation in his tone. "Oh, come on. I'm not going to go off at the slightest little thing."

"It'd be perfectly normal to jump if I did it without warning you," she countered, "no matter what the situation was." She moved quickly, pressing down just hard enough to confirm that there was no heat, no inflammation. The red was mostly new skin forming.

"All right," she told him. "You can put your shirt back on. They're fine. The itching is just from them healing."

"Good to know." The words were partially muffled in the cloth as he pulled it back over his head. He scrubbed his hands through his hair afterward, in what looked like an attempt to smooth it down, but ended up only making it more tousled. She snickered softly before she could catch herself.

He turned back around to face her. "What?"

"Nothing. Just that you made your hair messier, not neater."

"Figures." But he chuckled, shaking his head. "I'd let you fix it, but…"

"It's all right," she told him.

"It's not all right," he snapped back. "And it's only going to get worse every time she comes back. Isn't there anything we can do about it?"

"Well," she began, "I did tell you I'd teach you how to do the tapping. It's actually designed for someone to do for themselves, instead of the way I did it. If you're all the way awake, I suppose now is as good a time as any."

He scooted over to sit beside her knees. "Absolutely. Let's get started."

* * *

"I'm never going to remember all of these tapping locations," he complained.

"Yes, you will," she countered, "but you have to stop pushing yourself to learn them all right away. It's going to take a few practice sessions before you get it."

Gabriel frowned. "I may not have time for a few practice sessions."

Katrina had to admit he had a point. This wasn't a typical, controlled environment; as such, normal techniques weren't going to work. "All right. We can try something simpler, then. You already know the five basic senses."

"Of course."

"Okay. There's a mental sequence you can use. Start with sight. Look around and find five things you can describe to me. Choose some little details that a person might not notice on first glance."

His eyes flicked back and forth. "All right. There's a crack between the two halves of the door. The light grilles have a regular pattern of diamonds and hexagons. The zipper on your jacket is broken. Hey, when did that happen? Was it before or after you were in here?"

"Don't ask questions," she told him. "And don't overthink. Just describe things. The zipper on my jacket is broken. What else can you see?"

"Um. One side of the table is a little higher than the other. The water flagon is silver, but dull, and looks like it could be pewter, of all things."

"Good," she said. "Now tell me four things you can hear right now."

"There's a rattle in the air handler next to the head," he replied immediately. "It might be broken."

" _Describe_ things, Gabriel. Don't speculate or judge. The point is focusing your attention outward. It's a mindfulness exercise."

He nodded. "Okay. So then I, what, choose three things I can smell, two that I can feel and one that I can taste? Or something like that?"

"Exactly. Why don't you keep going with —" she was interrupted by a crash, and the floor unexpectedly tilted sideways. Katrina couldn't avoid crying out as she was pitched forward over her legs. "What the hell?"

He'd been tossed away from her, but was already back on his hands and knees. "Felt like weapons fire."

"Starfleet?"

"No way to tell." The floor dropped out from underneath them, and she landed hard, crying out again. He'd been sent sprawling again, but caught himself on his elbows and started crawling back toward her. "You all right?"

"Just bruised."

"Lie down," he told her. "You'll roll less that way."

She shoved herself off of the wall and stretched out on the floor, just before there was another crazy tilt sideways. She slid to her side, but was able to use her arms to stay out of a painful roll. Katrina found herself panting with the effort to avoid being hurt.

"Come here." He'd found his way back to her side, and pulled her against him.

"Are you —"

"I'm _fine_. We'll be safer like this."

"Unless we get hulled."

"Think positive, Doc. Try some of that self-soothing behavior you were talking about." He used his legs to hold them both still and protected through a hard shudder. "We can do this."

Acquiescing to his logic, she pressed her face against his shoulder and began counting seconds between the hits. She wasn't sure how long the bucking and heaving lasted or, even, exactly when it ended. There was only the point when she realized that nearly a full minute had passed since there'd been any crashes or jerks.

Gabriel sat up slowly and dropped his arms. "Okay. Maybe that's it."

"You think so? Could be a lull in combat."

"So stick close and stay down for a few more minutes."

"Okay." But just as her shoulders began to relax, she heard the door slide open and the sound of a scuffle. Dragging herself up to get a look, she was startled to see L'Rell being shoved into the chamber so hard she lost her footing.

She lunged back and flung herself toward the door. _"ToDsaH petaQ!"_

The guard knocked her back down, sparing the two of them a single glance before speaking in his accented Standard. "You like the humans so much, you stay with them."

"No!"

The door slid shut and the locking mechanism engaged with a soft click. L'Rell pounded on it, cursing and shouting in Klingon. After several moments with no response, she drew a foot back and kicked at it, followed by a visible wince and a different, softer word.

Gabriel had gotten to his feet, backing all the way up against the far corner. "What is this?"

She turned suddenly, as if just now realizing she had an audience. "Why would you care, _human?_ " The word was an epithet. "It is nothing you would understand."

"I thought," snapped Katrina, "that we _had_ an understanding. Or was that only as long as you weren't trapped in here with us? Yes," she continued. "It's obvious. You're just as much a prisoner now as we are, aren't you?"

She made a scoffing noise. "It is temporary."

"Really? Didn't you tell me _no one_ else on this ship was still true to T'Kuvma's original quest? That you have no other allies?"

L'Rell growled, low in her throat. "You forget yourself, Admiral."

"Not for a second. I'm just better than you. And I'd never betray my own —"

With a roar, she charged toward Katrina, hands outstretched into claws.

She never made it, instead going sprawling when she tripped over Gabriel's outstretched boot. Before she could recover, he'd wrestled her face-down on the deck, pinning her arms behind her. "You leave her _alone!_ She's hurt, damn you!"

L'Rell cursed again, struggling, but he threw his weight against her back to hold her in place. When he looked up to meet Katrina's eyes, she saw that he was paler than usual, except for two spots of bright color in his across his cheeks. But his hands were steady and his eyes were clear.

"Get my jacket," he said. "And yours, too. Plus anything else I might use as a tie."

* * *

 _The exercises that Katrina uses in this chapter are commonly taught in Dialectical Behavioral Therapy._


	5. Chapter 5

_Star Trek_ and _Star Trek: Discovery_ are the registered trademarks and copyrighted property of CBS Corporation and CBS Television Studios. This fiction item is intended for entertainment purposes only. No compensation has been received or will be accepted for it, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended or should be implied.

* * *

 **Know Thyself  
** _Chapter Five_

* * *

She wasn't really sure how jackets could be used to restrain someone, but she grabbed both as quickly as she could.

"Tear out the sleeves," grunted Gabriel as he shifted his weight to counteract L'Rell's struggles. "Fast. I don't know how long I can hold her."

Whether it was that pronouncement, adrenaline or just the overall situation, she was able to rip apart both jackets more easily than she anticipated. Katrina passed each sleeve over as she got it loose. He wrapped the first two around the Klingon's wrists multiple times, weaving them between her hands before tying tight knots. The third went around her ankles before he slid off to the side, holding up the fourth one.

"Turn over," he said. "This one goes in your mouth."

She spat something in Klingon.

"Fine. We'll do it the hard way."

With a sigh, she pushed herself over. "That is not necessary. I will cooperate."

"Let it go," said Katrina. "For now. We'll be the judge of your cooperation. What are you doing here?"

"The denizens of house Kol lack all honor," said L'Rell. "They are fools."

"Answer the question. Why'd the guards throw you in here?" She thought for a moment. "You were found out, weren't you? Did you try to get to your ship again?"

"What are you talking about?" asked Gabriel.

"I told you she wanted to defect. Or, at least, that's what she told me at the time. Were you being honest?"

She lifted her chin. "I was not being untruthful."

"But it wasn't the whole story, was it? If you'd really just wanted to escape, we would've gone straight to the ship the first time. Instead, you were determined Kol would know exactly what you thought of him. That's not the way a shadow operative works."

She hissed softly, but didn't deny the conclusion.

"Who's Kol?"

She hadn't noticed that Gabriel had shifted position so that he stood next to her, staring down at L'Rell. His color was normal, but his hands were clasped in a way that told Katrina he was trying to keep them from shaking.

"He's the captain of this ship," said Katrina. "I was captured and interrogated on his orders."

L'Rell scoffed. "He is a usurper. This ship was never his to lead. It is T'Kuvma's and the torch-bearer's. But when provisions ran low, the _petaQu_ _'_ among the crew were all willing to exchange their loyalties for mere food. All except the torch-bearer. Voq. But he is lost to us now. I am the only true believer left."

Gabriel responded to her speech with an eye roll. "You still haven't answered the admiral's question. Why'd you get thrown in here? Did you try a coup or something?"

"By myself? I would not be so foolhardy."

"Then what?" pressed Katrina. "Something got Kol's attention. Why don't you want to tell us what it was?" The next words felt like ash in her mouth, but she pushed them out anyway. "I thought we had an understanding."

"And I thought it was cancelled," snapped L'Rell. "You yourself said so after I left the last time."

Katrina drew herself up as the implications of the statement hit her. "We're being monitored."

"Did you honestly think you would not be?"

Gabriel dropped to a squat between them. "Don't get off track. Why are you in here? It doesn't matter if you answer, since Captain Kol already knows why he did it."

" _General_ Kol. Or so he styles himself. He is —"

"In charge of the ship," he cut her off. "And you aren't. What did you do to end up in here?"

She pulled at her bonds, but they held fast. "Release me. I will tell you what you need to know."

"Wrong order," said Katrina. "Tell us, and then we'll decide whether to release you."

"I have need of the facilities."

Gabriel scowled. "That's the oldest trick in the book."

"It is no trick. Accompany me, if you feel the need." A sly look appeared on her face. "It could be another one of our explorations, if you wished."

"Don't start," snapped Katrina. "You aren't in control anymore."

"And you are?"

"I'm the senior officer. I'm in command. You _will_ address him respectfully."

"Such concern. The two of you have served together before, have you not? More than once? I had wondered if you were something more than comrades, especially after I brought him back to you this last time."

She felt her face warm. "That's none of your business. I would insist on proper treatment for any of my officers."

"I see." She paused. "I am not being untruthful now, either. If I cannot access the facilities, there will be…an issue."

With a frustrated noise, Gabriel untied her ankles and yanked her to her feet, walking her toward the head. When they got there, he unfastened something near her waist and the armor fell around her ankles. Then he shoved her behind the screen, hands still tied. "Make it quick."

She did, and afterward he re-secured the armor with an economy of motion that made it clear he had done it before. Katrina told herself not to notice, instead watching as they walked back over to where she was sitting. After she lowered herself back down, he squatted near her ankles again, but she waved him off.

"Leave it. We'll call it a gesture of good faith. We let you use the facilities. We've let you vent your anger at Kol. Now," she said. "Answer my question. Why have you been thrown in here?"

"It is nothing that a human would understand."

Katrina was the one who rolled her eyes this time. "Try me."

"The explanation is…complex."

"And you're still avoiding," countered Gabriel. He held up one of the sleeves again. "You have a choice. Either you answer the question in your next sentence or I _will_ gag you."

"Captain," said Katrina, though she kept her tone mild.

L'Rell looked between them several times, opening her mouth but closing it again briefly before she spoke. "This is a traditional interrogation technique. One of you being aggressive, the other sympathetic. I will not succumb to it."

With a snarl, Gabriel moved forward, but L'Rell twisted away. "Wait! Enough. The admiral has guessed correctly. Kol recognized my treachery."

"How?" he demanded.

"I was not able to provide the intelligence he requested."

"And what intelligence was that?" asked Katrina.

She eyed them again. "The secrets behind the _Discovery_. How it gets from place to place without detection. Why Starfleet installed his clone as its captain."

"I can answer that last," she replied, glancing up and around at the unseen recording devices. "Starfleet doesn't know. Cloning of sentient creatures is banned in the Federation."

"Then explain how the same person, with the same name, is both here and there." Her eyes moved back to Gabriel. "I captured him, too. You are exactly alike physically. I wanted to know if it was the same in other ways."

He flushed, but didn't otherwise move. "I wouldn't know. Where is he now?"

"He escaped."

"Good for him."

"He was _permitted_ to escape," she clarified. "And to return to the _Discovery_. Holding him…" she trailed off. "Served no further purpose."

Katrina narrowed her eyes. "That's not the full truth."

"It is the answer to the question."

"I've never lied to you, not even by omission." It was true enough; L'Rell had never actually asked her about the _Discovery_ 's propulsion system.

"Perhaps because you held no information worth lying to protect."

"I wouldn't bait her if I were you," said Gabriel. "She has a temper. You're only talking at all because she wants you to be."

"So she is the one in command. You are as weak as I thought you were."

He visibly bristled, but glanced at Katrina, who shook her head and picked up the conversation again. "Insults aren't going to help you either. Fine. It's easy enough for this human to understand: Kol figured you out. What are the chances of being able to escape from here, now that you're stuck with us? Is your ship still on the hangar deck?"

"For all the good it will do. Nobody has ever successfully escaped from this ship."

"The other prisoners," she replied, "didn't have an inside source about its capabilities and layout. We do. You're going to help us figure out how to get out."

"And if I do not?"

Gabriel brandished the unused sleeves again.

"Gag me, then. I have nothing to gain by helping you."

"Maybe you don't," said Katrina. "But maybe you do. Maybe," she continued, "we'd be amenable to granting you asylum long enough to regroup and make your next attempt against Kol. He's your enemy, not us. Not really."

"Anything that violates T'Kuvma's vision is my enemy. Kol, with his lack of honor. The Federation, with its insistence on suppressing cultural differences in the name of communication."

"Fine," said Katrina. "Go ahead, Captain. Re-tie her ankles, too, while you're at it. Let's give her some time to think about her situation some more."

She fought, but that was to be expected. And if Gabriel was perhaps just a bit too rough with her, she decided not to notice.

Afterward, he pulled L'Rell around to the other side of the table, out of sight, before returning to sit next to Katrina. "I'll check on her every so often," he said in English. "But if she thinks we're abandoning her, it might give her some incentive."

She gave him a level look before answering in the same language. Federation Standard was partially based on English, but hopefully there was enough difference they'd be able to confuse anyone who was monitoring. "Are you all right? It can't be easy to deal with her."

"I'm fine."

Her answering look was skeptical.

"Okay," he amended. "I'll be fine. It's not the same situation. She's not in control this time, and we have another goal. You really think we can get out of here?"

"Not particularly," she admitted. "But we have to try. You know that. Standard orders for prisoners of war."

This time, he was the one who offered a significant look, eyes flickering downward across her lower body.

"You'll go without me, if you have an opportunity."

"Like hell."

"That _is_ an order, Captain."

Anger flickered across his features, but he didn't argue, instead huffing loudly as he swung around to sit next to her. "It could be a while before they come back."

"Or not. Didn't you say they don't want prisoners forming alliances? Best way to do that is not to leave us alone too long. Of course, if they can see that L'Rell's tied…"

He nodded in agreement. "What next, then?

She sighed. "I'm open to ideas."

They brainstormed and debated for a long time, and Gabriel was true to his word about getting up and checking on L'Rell every now and then. He never actually went over to her; instead, he simply stood up and leaned over the table.

"She's asleep," he reported the third time. "Probably going to start snoring before too long."

"We should probably do the same. I've lost track of the ship's circadians again."

"It's late," he answered promptly. "But we're at high warp. Can't you feel the deck vibrations?"

"I'm out of practice." Katrina sighed. "All the more reason for us to try and rest, though, if the ship is headed toward something significant enough to warrant getting there fast. Maybe waking up in the middle of combat will shake something loose in her head, help her realize that we're all she's got."

"Or maybe it's all still a setup." He held up a hand to forestall any arguments. "No, let's not argue that one right now. Please. Let's just…" he trailed off, scooting closer and putting an arm around her shoulders. "I'd like to try this, at least."

"You sure you're up to it?"

"I'm not going to get any better by ignoring it."

"No, but this might not be the best time to work on it, either. We're both under a lot of other stress at the moment."

He twisted so he could look at her. "Both?"

She shrugged against his chest. "Just because I haven't gone through what you have, doesn't mean I'm all right."

"Fair enough," he answered, leaning back against the wall. "But that's just more reason to take comfort where we can. It was worse when I was alone, Katrina. At least we're not now. That might not be much, I know, but it's something."

She'd take it, she decided, as she closed her eyes and listened to his heartbeat, willing herself to drop off. Goodness only knew what was coming next. Or when.

* * *

As it happened, they didn't have to wait very long. The ship shuddered hard as it came out of warp, awakening both of them. All three of them, actually, if the muffled screech from across the room was any indication.

Gabriel scrambled to his feet, glaring across at L'Rell. "Quiet. You're fine."

There was another sound of protest, but he ignored it, instead taking up a position under the table. Katrina wondered at that for a moment before realizing the vantage point gave him a view of the door, as well as both of them. The unusual location could also give him the element of surprise.

"Starfleet?" she mouthed at him.

He shook his head, motioning for her to listen. Then he made another gesture with his fingers, miming walking, but she wasn't entirely sure what it meant. It suggested footsteps, and indeed she could hear them outside in the hallway, but wasn't that to be expected if the ship was going into combat?

Grimly, wishing she could at least move her legs, she tried to brace herself into position, waiting for the floor to begin gyrating. It shuddered several times, but never bucked. Nor were there any crashing sounds.

What was going on out there?

Without warning, the door slid open, and Gabriel pressed himself further back into the shadows. Katrina squinted against the light, making out the silhouettes of two figures, and then bit her lip in surprise.

Neither of them were Klingon. But both were wearing Starfleet combat uniforms.


	6. Chapter 6

_Star Trek_ and _Star Trek: Discovery_ are the registered trademarks and copyrighted property of CBS Corporation and CBS Television Studios. This fiction item is intended for entertainment purposes only. No compensation has been received or will be accepted for it, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended or should be implied.

* * *

 **Know Thyself  
** _Chapter Six_

* * *

The two figures moved quickly into the cell, crouching next to Katrina. "Admiral," said the shorter one. "I'm Specialist Burnham. From the _Discovery_. What are you doing here? Can you move?"

"Long story," she answered. "And I can't move my legs. Can't even feel one of them."

Digging into her field pack, the younger woman found a hypo and set it for a dose of painkiller. As Katrina tilted her head to accept the injection, she caught Gabriel's eye and mouthed _wait_. His lips thinned, but he nodded and pressed himself further back into the shadows.

"Thank you," she said out loud. "State your mission, Specialist."

"Captain Lorca dispatched us to install sensors aboard this ship so we could break the Klingon cloak."

"And your status?"

"The first sensor is already online. Tyler and —" she broke off. "Tyler? Tyler!"

Somehow, despite being tied, L'Rell had managed to drag herself to her feet, although she was using the edge of the table for balance as she swayed. If Katrina had had to categorize the sound she made, she'd have used the word moan, except that it wasn't one of pain. The Klingon's eyes were locked on Tyler, who had gone stock-still.

She made another sound, one that couldn't have been anything other than pleasure, and the phaser he'd been holding dropped out of nerveless fingers.

"Tyler!" cried Burnham, scooping up the phaser just as his knees began to crumple. She caught him, but the comparative height difference overwhelmed her until Gabriel scrambled out from under the table to assist. Together, they brought him over to sit against the wall next to Katrina, and when Burnham sat back on her heels her mouth fell open. _"Captain?"_

"Do we know each other?"

"No," said Katrina. "It's part of that long story. Specialist Burnham, this is Captain Lorca. The one on _Discovery_ is an imposter."

"How —?" she cut herself off, shaking her head. "Are you certain, ma'am?"

"Yes, but there's no time to explain everything." She indicated the twitching, sweating man next to her. "Is he injured?"

"He was a victim of Klingon torture."

"Join the club," muttered Gabriel. "How long ago?"

"Since the Battle of the Binaries, but Captain L —" she fumbled before continuing. "The Captain Lorca on the _Discovery_ escaped with him a couple of weeks ago. Tyler, are you all right? Tyler!"

"Don't bother," said Katrina. "I used to work with PTSD patients, and that's what this looks like. Regardless of what it is, he's in shock. He's not going to be of help to you anytime soon. Can you set the other sensors by yourself?"

"Yes. But I have to make it to the bridge."

"I'll come with you," said Gabriel.

She hesitated, obviously torn, and Katrina stepped in. "No. It's too risky. How long is it going to take you?"

"Not long." She handed Tyler's phaser over. "Here. I'll come back afterward and the _Discovery_ will beam us out. All of us." She turned back toward her companion. "You hear me, Tyler? Ash? I'm seeing this mission through. I meant what I said. Everyone comes home."

He closed his eyes, but didn't otherwise acknowledge the statement. With another worried look, Burnham pushed to her feet and exited the chamber.

Only then did Katrina hand the phaser to Gabriel. "You're more capable of using this than I am."

"Why didn't you want me to go with her?"

"She was following my orders when she didn't ask questions. She doesn't actually trust you. We're going to need to argue things out again later." She turned to L'Rell and indicated Tyler, who she saw now wore lieutenant's insignia. "Who is this man to you?"

She made a frustrated noise, lifting her arms to indicate the gag. Gabriel glanced over at her, waiting for her nod before going over to remove it. He brandished the phaser after doing so. "Don't believe I won't use this if you try anything."

"I will not," answered the Klingon. "And your officer was correct. This man was imprisoned aboard my ship for some time, but when the clone of your Captain Lorca was captured, they were able to work together and effect an escape."

"You did the same thing to him you did to me, didn't you." Gabriel's voice was bitter, and his fingers twitched near the trigger guard although they stayed outside it for the moment.

"No." L'Rell bristled. "You could not even begin to understand!"

"Yeah? Try me."

She narrowed her eyes. "I did."

"You demonic spawn of a fucking —"

"Enough," broke in Katrina. "We don't have time for this. Get back into position, Captain."

He glared, but nodded and scrambled backward, returning to his previous location under the table. Katrina lowered her voice. "It will be better if you sit back down. Stay out of the lieutenant's line of sight and be quiet."

"I could be of assistance."

"Your presence is upsetting him. Don't argue, damn it! Just do it!"

With a glance toward Gabriel, she acquiesced, using the table to brace herself as she knelt back down. He watched her closely, shifting so that he could keep both of them, and the door, within his line of sight, and powered up the phaser. Satisfied, Katrina nodded and turned back to the lieutenant. His eyes were open again, but his face was covered in sweat. She knew he wasn't watching their surroundings.

"Tyler," she said. "That's your name, isn't it?"

There was no response, but she hadn't expected one.

"Lieutenant Tyler, listen to me. You're safe enough right now. Captain Lorca is covering us, and Burnham will return shortly. What you're experiencing is the effects of past trauma." She paused. "I know it doesn't feel like it, but you have to believe me. What you're seeing is just a memory, and you are right here with me."

His eyes rolled. "Make them stop. Make them st —"

"Maybe you should try the tapping," said Gabriel.

She shook her head at him, not wanting to risk breaking her rhythm by explaining why it wasn't likely to work in this case. Tyler was on a hair trigger, not catatonic, and there was no previous relationship for her to fall back on. " _Tyler_. They didn't break you then, and they are not going to break you now. Come on. Normal breath in, slow breath out."

He took a hard, shaky breath and let it out in a series of short gasps. That wasn't exactly what she'd had in mind, but she took it as a positive sign anyway: apparently he was hearing her on some level.

"Good," she told him. "Keep that up. We'll start by focusing on your breathing. No, don't close your eyes. I want you to breathe in while you take a look around. Yes, we're on a Klingon ship, but is this the same place you were before? Or is it different?"

"D-d-d—"

"Take another breath, in and out. There you go. This is a different place. What happened before is not going to happen again. Just stay with me. It won't be long before we're out of here." Or so she hoped.

* * *

Running footsteps periodically passed by the door. Gabriel tensed and clutched the phaser close the first few times it happened, but as it became clear that the pounding steps were going by their holding cell and not into it, he gradually subsided into a wary alertness.

Katrina kept talking in a low tone. "That's good, Tyler. Just keep focusing on my voice. I want you to try another deep breath. Can you do that for me?"

She had to give him credit for trying, at least, even though the breaths were still too shaky and uneven for her taste. At least L'Rell was complying with her orders to stay quiet and out of sight.

"This isn't the same situation you were in before," she reminded the lieutenant. "Look around. Notice the differences. I wasn't on the Klingon ship with you before. Neither was Burnham. And Captain Lorca didn't have a phaser. Are there any other differences you can tell me about?"

He rolled his eyes toward her, but rolled them back without answering.

"Come on, Ash, stay with me." Maybe he would respond more strongly to his first name.

"Warmer," he finally managed.

"Good. That's a big difference. Here's another one. We aren't trapped. We're not prisoners."

"B-but…"

"Repeat that," she insisted. "We aren't trapped. We're not prisoners."

"We're not — we're not —" he paused, fighting for control. "We aren't prisoners."

"That's right," she told him. "Now I want you to tell that to the images in your head. They are just memories. They aren't real. This is what's real. Focus on the moment, not the memories. You don't have time for them."

He shuddered again. "So hot in here."

"We're on a Klingon ship. They like it warmer than humans. But we aren't prisoners. Say it again out loud if you have to."

That was when the doors began to crack open. Gabriel was on it immediately, greeting their visitors with a phaser shot and then aiming a second one at the locked-down interior controls. They melted, leaving the doors struck about three inches open. Outside, the Klingons shouted at each other in their own language.

Tyler began whimpering again. "They're coming. They're coming. To make us choose, we have to —"

" _Lieutenant Tyler!"_ Katrina made her voice into a whip. "Don't go back there! It's just memories!"

His only response was panting breaths.

Gabriel glanced back at them. "Exterior controls are still intact. It won't take them long to break through."

She nodded at him before continuing. "We're about to have company. There's only so much one person can do to cover all of us, and my legs aren't working. I can't help. Stay with me, Ash. Focus on the heat. Use it to find your way out of the memories."

As if on cue, the doors released and began to widen. Gabriel aimed and fired again, knocking one of the Klingons back into the others, and Katrina's temper unraveled. "For the love of God! Burnham's in danger and she needs your help!"

That sentence seemed to get through, and Tyler's eyes closed once, then snapped back open, alert and aware. With a grunt, he scrambled to his feet and positioned himself just inside the door sill, nodding to Gabriel. He nodded back just as the doors slid the rest of the way open and the Klingons burst through.

The first one hit the floor nearly immediately, brought low by Tyler's trip and chop to the neck. The second one landed on top of him before he could recover, felled by Gabriel's phaser bolt. Ducking out the doors, Tyler made a quick gesture and then dove back into their cell, just as the doors snapped back shut. He was holding several fiber optic cables.

"Bunged the controls," he explained, still panting. "Should do for a bit."

Around them, the ship abruptly began to shudder: combat. Katrina braced for another session of being tossed around. Tyler dropped back down next to her. "That's the _Discovery_. If they're getting through, Burnham must've gotten the sensors working."

"What about the cavalry?" asked Gabriel.

Tyler grimaced. "Not coming."

"Not _coming?_ "

"Captain Lorca was ordered back to the Starbase. We turned around when we figured out how to break the Klingons' cloak. The Pahvans —" he cut himself off. "I'm saying too much."

"We'll sort it out later," said Katrina. "You're certain the _Discovery_ is here by itself?"

"Yeah, and we didn't expect to find other human prisoners on this ship." Digging in his pack, Tyler pulled out two pattern enhancers, handed one to her, and threw the other to Gabriel. "But we're going to get you out of here. Take these."

There was a loud thump against the doors, and then the ominous sound of a weapon set to steady fire. Gabriel raised his phaser again. "It's not going to take them long to break through."

"I will assist." L'Rell had remained silent so long that Katrina had nearly forgotten she was still there.

"How?" asked Gabriel.

"Untie me. They will not expect me to fight them."

Tyler shifted uncomfortably, and Katrina shook her head. "No, sit back down. But, Gabriel, do as she asks and take off the ties."

" _What?"_

"If we can't hold them, she can back us up. Use the element of surprise."

"We don't need —"

"That's an order, Captain." Now that Tyler was back with them, there was no need to keep her restrained.

He responded with a furious look, but scooted over to comply. She stood up, rubbing her wrists, just as the deck twisted again, throwing all four of them sideways. There was a loud electrical crackling from outside, and the lights went out with a soft _pop_.

"Blew the power," said Gabriel into the darkness. She could hear the rustle of his uniform as he moved back toward the door. "Sound off. Anyone hurt?"

Katrina was gasping, trying not to cry out from the pain of landing directly on her left leg. "Here."

Tyler's hands found hers. "Take it easy, Admiral. What happened? What do you need?"

"Just hold still," she gritted out, using his forearms to leverage herself into a less painful position. "L'Rell?"

"Present. I am unharmed."

"Good. We'll wait, then. Anyone know if there's a manual override on those doors?"

"Yes," said L'Rell, "but it will be difficult to find without light. It will take the men some time. That gives us something of an advantage."

"I'll take whatever I can get."

Tyler's communicator chose that moment to crackle to life. _"_ Discovery _to Tyler. We're through the cloak. Are you prepared for transport?"_

He fumbled in the dark for a second before she heard the sound of the antenna tuning up. "This is Tyler. Burnham's still on this ship's bridge. Scan for pattern enhancers near my location. There are three of us for transport from here."

There was a noise from L'Rell's direction. "Three?"

" _Confirmed, and we read Specialist Burnham. Stand by. We're pulling you in first."_

"No!" Katrina heard another scuffling sound, and then a surprised yelp from Gabriel as the transporter beams began to engage. They provided just enough light for her to have a clear view as he instinctively blocked L'Rell's attempt to throw her arms around him, using her bound wrists to shove her backward and out of the beam.

The last thing she saw, just as the room dissolved, was the look of pure rage on the Klingon's face.


	7. Chapter 7

_Star Trek_ and _Star Trek: Discovery_ are the registered trademarks and copyrighted property of CBS Corporation and CBS Television Studios. This fiction item is intended for entertainment purposes only. No compensation has been received or will be accepted for it, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended or should be implied.

* * *

 **Know Thyself  
** _Chapter Seven_

* * *

Katrina gasped in pain, eyes tearing up in response to the comparative brightness in the _Discovery_ 's transporter room. At least, she thought as she turned her head away, the latest discomfort wasn't in her legs this time.

"Admiral?" An unfamiliar voice pulled her back to the moment. " _Captain?_ What were you doing on the Klingon ship?"

"No time for that." Tyler's voice was crisp, businesslike, now that he was away from the Klingons. "Reset the transporters and get Burnham. Now. Captain, we need to clear the pad."

The room swung dizzily as Gabriel and Tyler moved her to the floor in front of the transporters. They hummed to life just as she was set down, and Burnham appeared, falling heavily on her side with one hand clenched around something in her fist.

"Bridge!" shouted the operator. "Everyone's aboard. Including two extras."

The lights dimmed briefly, and Burnham glanced at Tyler. "They're getting ready to fire on the Klingon ship," she said. "We need to get to the bridge."

"Go on," he told her. Behind them, the transporter officer keyed the comm and called for a medical team.

"You, too —" she began.

"No," he answered, and then he sidled around to the open comm. "This is Tyler. We also need additional security officers."

"Security officers?"

"Go!" he snapped. "I'll be there as soon as I can." When she left, he turned back to the two of them. "Sir, I need your phaser."

Suddenly furious, Gabriel pointed it at him. "I didn't just break out of one prison to end up in another one!"

"Until we know what's going on with you and Captain Lorca —"

" _I'm Captain Lorca!_ He's the one you need to be arresting!"

"Gabriel," broke in Katrina. "Surrender the phaser. For now."

He swung the phaser in her direction. "Not you, too. All of a sudden you've started ordering me around and —"

"Think!" she snapped. "They have to do this until everything's straightened out."

"Then let's straighten it out right now."

"This ship is in combat! Drop the phaser, Captain!"

His hands were shaking and he gave her a look that could have melted duranium, but he unclasped his fingers and let the weapon clatter to the floor. Tyler kicked it clear just as two security officers burst through the door, drawing up short.

"Skoren, take this man to the brig," he ordered them. "But no restraints unless he resists. You hear me, sir? Cooperate, and we'll get this over with as fast as we can."

He gritted his teeth so hard that Katrina imagined she could hear them grinding, but gave a short nod and followed the security officer out the door.

"Thank you," said Katrina. "For the lack of restraints, I mean."

"Of course, Admiral." Then Tyler sighed. "And, actually, I should be thanking you for helping me over there. But…" he trailed off and motioned to the other officer. "I'm sorry, ma'am. You, too, at least for right now."

She'd figured as much. Although her lips thinned, Katrina forced herself to nod as the medical team raced through the door. "Go to the Bridge, Lieutenant. I won't resist. You have my word."

"Admiral —"

"You deserve to see this. We can wait until it's over. And," she continued, "we both know what has to happen once it is. I don't think your Captain Lorca is going to submit to anyone other than you."

"No." He didn't meet her eyes as he picked up the phaser and attached it to his belt. "I don't either."

* * *

The doctor, a dark-skinned human woman about her own age, _tsk_ ed softly as she ran the scanner over Katrina's body. "You should've stayed still as much as possible, Admiral. It looks like the nerves tried to start healing themselves, but you kept re-injuring them."

"That wasn't really an option," she answered.

"Well, if you had, we'd likely have been able to treat you here. But…" she trailed off, shaking her head. "I can stabilize you, but you're going to need complex neurosurgery on your spine, and possibly a neural implant. The nearest facility for that is at Starbase Eighty-Eight."

"What about the other injuries?"

She administered a hypo. "This is a dietary supplement. You'll need to be on them for a little while, to handle the malnutrition. You've also had a concussion and two broken ribs, but those mostly seem to have resolved on their own. Beyond that, it's primarily scrapes and bruises except for that right leg. Did you even know that both the tibia and fibula were broken at some point?"

"No."

"It looks like a dragging injury. The fractures stayed closed, but they weren't reduced properly before they began to heal. I can re-break and re-set them, but I'd just as soon leave that to the surgeons at the Starbase. Unless you want me to do it now?"

"I've waited this long. I suppose I can wait a bit longer." If she was going to have multiple surgeries, she was better off having them done as closely together as possible. "What about the other prisoner who was with me? He needs medical attention, too."

From the foot of the bio-bed, the security officer stirred. "He seemed to be all right."

"There's a huge difference between being on his feet and being all right. He'd been there for months."

"I'll send someone to the brig," said the doctor. "You, Admiral, need to rest until the evac shuttle gets here. Would you like a sedative? You can tolerate a mild one, if you need it."

"No. I'll be fine."

"It's just as well, since I need to talk to her."

Katrina turned toward the new voice. "Commander Saru."

"Admiral Cornwell," he replied. "It's good to see you back. We'd heard about your capture, but didn't know you'd been moved over to the Klingon flagship."

"What's the status of that?" she asked. "Did you defeat the cloaking technology?"

He blinked slowly. "I'm afraid I can't answer that right now."

"Right." She let her head fall back onto the pillow, although it occurred to her that the first officer's presence in Sickbay meant that the _Discovery_ had to be out of immediate danger. The battle was over, then. "Well, let's get it over with. What do you need to know?"

"To begin with, I'd like to find out why Lieutenant Tyler has just arrested Captain Lorca."

"Did he go quietly?"

"Admiral," said Saru softly. "You're still under security detention yourself, until your identity can be verified."

She indulged in a grimace and a long sigh before replying. Time to take her own advice. "All right, then. I'll start at the beginning, with the peace talks at Cancri IV. As you know, they were a ruse…"

* * *

Saru was gentle during the debrief, mindful of her injuries, but it was still grueling simply because so much had happened since she'd left the _Discovery_. Fortunately, Katrina's DNA verification came through about halfway through the conversation, and he released her from the temporary detention. After that, she asked as many questions as she answered, wanting to catch up as quickly as she could.

The best news was that the _Discovery_ had indeed found a way to defeat the Klingons' cloaking technology. "That," she told Saru, "almost makes everything we suffered on their ship worth it. Have you sent the specs to the rest of the fleet?"

"Not yet," he answered. "We are still refining the algorithm."

She shook her head. "Don't wait. Send what you have now. Use my personal encryption —" she broke off, remembering the realization she'd had very early in her captivity. "Damn. You can't. All my access codes would've been cancelled as a security precaution."

"Yes," he confirmed. "They were. And Captain Lorca did not believe standard encryption was safe enough."

"He was right. Okay, then, get a packet together to go with me on the med evac shuttle. We can't afford to risk losing the information we already have, if something were to happen to this ship."

As a Kelpien, Saru's expressions weren't particularly easy to read, but his voice was, and there was no mistaking the tone of pride that had crept in. "With all respect, Admiral, I don't believe we're in any danger at the moment."

"At the moment," she echoed. "You know as well as I do how quickly that could change."

He inclined his head. "You have a point. You're also the senior officer. I'll make sure Mr. Stamets and his team prepare a full report before the shuttle gets here. I should let you know that we'll be sending you back with a security detachment. Starfleet wants both Captain Lorca and the imposter moved off the front lines as quickly as possible."

As if she'd have been willing to leave without Gabriel anyway. It occurred to her that the commander might very well have been referring to him with the word imposter, instead of the actual one, but as long as the situation was under control she could let it slide. For now.

"All right," she said instead of arguing, and then turned her gaze on the doctor, who had silently reappeared. "Have you been able to find any differences between them?"

"Their DNA profiles are identical," she answered, "but you were right that they aren't clones. Neither one of them shows the transcription errors that are inherent with cloning. I'm not sure how this could have happened."

"Scan them both again."

"The _Discovery_ 's captain is refusing all medical procedures."

"He doesn't have a choice," snapped Katrina. "Run a full and comprehensive exam anyway. If he questions it, tell him I gave him the order. And remind him about the private conversations he and I had just before I left for Cancri IV." There was no need to bring up his fitness for command with anyone else now, particularly so soon after he'd accomplished such a dramatic victory, but he'd recognize the threat for what it was.

The doctor nodded. "Yes, ma'am. And now I think I need to insist on that sedative. Your heart rate's elevated, Admiral, and you're showing other signs of physiological stress."

Katrina didn't doubt it.

* * *

"Okay, Admiral," said the orderly. "That's the last strap. Any of them too tight?"

Katrina shifted, uncomfortable at the idea of being strapped down at all, even though she'd agreed to it. After speaking with Starbase Eighty-Eight, the _Discovery_ 's CMO had wanted to knock her out and set a full spinal block. She'd flatly, and loudly, refused. They'd compromised on partial block to keep her still, but no sedative, and that was when she'd learned she would also need to be restrained for safety during the transport.

"That's part of the reason I wanted to sedate you," the doctor had explained. "It won't be comfortable."

"I'll manage," she'd said. She'd decided she would rather be uncomfortable than unaware, and now, she was determined to stick with that assertion, no matter what.

"Everything's fine," she told the orderly now, shoving away the panic nibbling at the edge of her awareness. "But double-check my legs anyway. I can't see or feel them."

The stretcher shifted slightly as he pulled on the straps around her lower body. "Circulation's fine."

"All right." She closed her eyes. "Then let's get this over with as quickly as we can."

"We're still waiting on our other passengers," said the pilot.

Right. Opening her eyes again, she tried to twist her neck so that she could see the rear of the shuttle, but the cervical collar wouldn't let her move it far enough. Damn. They really did have her completely restrained.

 _Deal with it_ , she told herself as the panic made itself known again. _You insisted on being awake._

The sound of footsteps was a welcome distraction. Fighting the collar again, she managed to bring the shuttle's other set of seats into her field of vision just as Gabriel sat down, or so she thought until she looked again and saw the open sneer on his face. When he spoke, his tone was mocking. "Is this your version of 'not wanting to ruin my career,' Katrina? Having me arrested and thrown in the brig in front of my entire crew?"

Definitely not Gabriel. "You know very well why you were put in there."

"Do I? They didn't tell me anything, just ran all these medical scans. On your orders, or so I'm told. What are you playing at? Do you seriously think Command'll listen to your _concerns_ now, right after we destroyed the Ship of the Dead?"

"I just want to know who you really are."

He rolled his eyes, shrugging in a way that told her he was in restraints. "Gabriel Lorca, at your service."

"Hardly," she snapped.

"Who else would I be?"

As if in response, there was another set of footsteps, and the captain's face briefly registered shock and surprise before settling into a hardened mask. "You," he spat, "are supposed to be _dead_."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you," came the same voice from somewhere down near Katrina's feet. She couldn't completely suppress the shudder at hearing the nearly-identical cadences so close together. "I suppose you're the one who pulled me out of the _Buran_ 's engine room?"

The _Discovery_ 's captain narrowed his eyes but didn't respond.

"I don't remember how I ended up in that corridor," continued Gabriel as he sat down, finally coming into view. "Just that I did, and the next thing I knew I was in a transporter room full of Klingons. But it was too late. I'd already set the self-destruct and the warp core breached anyway."

At that, the captain scoffed. "Don't flatter yourself. _I_ set the self-destruct. You were too weak to finish. Just like you were too weak to escape from the Klingons. It only took me a few days. You were there for months, and in the end had to be rescued instead of getting out on your own."

She could see the retort in his eyes, but instead of saying anything Gabriel took a sharp breath and turned away, angling himself so that he was only facing her. "How you doin', Kat? You're trussed up awfully tight."

"It's supposed to be a precautionary measure," she told him, trying and failing to keep her voice even. "Keep me from damaging anything worse than it already is."

In an eerie echo of his other self's expression, his eyes narrowed. "You going to survive the trip? Security told me it was six hours."

The _Discovery_ 's captain snorted. "It's not like she's never been uptight that long before. If not longer. Hell, I don't know if she's ever _completely_ relaxed, if you know what I mean. Do you?"

Gabriel chose not to turn and face his doppelgänger, which meant Katrina could almost see the wheels turning in his mind as he mentally counted to ten, or recited an alphabet, or worked his way through some other calming mantra before responding. "You don't get to talk about her. In fact, you really ought to keep your mouth shut altogether."

"What, don't tell me you actually _like_ that kind of stiff and frigid —"

"I said shut _up_!" exploded Gabriel, yanking at the restraints on his wrists as he turned around. "Not another word, not to her. Not to me. And not about either one of us. And don't you even fucking think you —"

"Enough," came Tyler's voice from the rear of the shuttle. "Both of you, sit down and shut up. Now. Admiral, are you all right?"

"Yes," she answered. "But these two gentlemen apparently haven't managed to work out their differences. How long were they in the brig together?"

"They weren't. We kept them apart. Which is," he said, "the way you're going to stay. Opposite ends of the bench," he directed them. "Tanith, Skoren, one of you on each of them but sit together in the middle. If either one of them starts something, you know what to do."

The _Discovery_ 's captain rolled his eyes again, but remained silent. With a sigh, Gabriel leaned back and shifted into a comfortable position for sleeping. Katrina would've done the same if she'd been able to move. It was going to be a long trip.


	8. Chapter 8

_Star Trek_ and _Star Trek: Discovery_ are the registered trademarks and copyrighted property of CBS Corporation and CBS Television Studios. This fiction item is intended for entertainment purposes only. No compensation has been received or will be accepted for it, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended or should be implied.

* * *

 **Know Thyself  
** _Chapter Eight_

* * *

She startled awake to the sound of klaxons, cursing when her attempt to sit up was thwarted by all the restraints. "What the —"

"Take it easy, Kat." Gabriel was still seated in the location he'd claimed before the shuttle took off. "Escape attempt."

"Into open space?"

"We landed at the starbase about ten minutes ago," he explained. "He took off as soon as the shuttle door opened. As far as I can tell, he's still loose on the landing deck."

"As far as you can tell? Where are the security guards?"

"They sealed us in when they went after him. Good tactics, since it took away one more place he could hide."

She twisted her neck as far as she could. "Is the pilot out there with them?"

"Yeah. Figure he's trying to better the odds. But it sounds like it's not doing that much good." He cocked his head, listening to the sounds outside. "That's crossfire. He must've gotten the drop on someone and grabbed their phaser. I don't know what he thinks he's going to accomplish. If they had a chance to sound the alarm, there are going to be reinforcements on the way."

"Well, at least he's making it clear which one of you is the real Gabriel Lorca."

Shrugging, he raised his hands slightly to show her that he was still in restraints.

"Oh, I'm sure they'll take those off once there's time."

"I wish I could be so optimistic. You haven't seen how people are looking at him or talking about him. I saw some of it while I was in the _Discovery_ 's brig." He sighed. "That crew, the one that figured out how to break the Klingon cloak, worships him. And even I'll admit that he did a good job when he destroyed the Ship of the Dead. Command's not going to forget that. He was apparently even in line for the Medal of Honor until I showed up."

If she concentrated, she could hear the phaser fire out on the deck herself. It sounded as though it was getting closer to the shuttle. "He's not earning any points with Command right now."

"Oh, _that's_ easy enough to explain away. Losing his head in the middle of a panic attack or something. Especially if you had filed a report expressing some concerns about his state of mind."

Her lips quirked. "I never finished or filed the official version."

"Still, there's likely at least a mention on the record. Which you wrote before you knew about me, didn't you? So you didn't raise any concerns that he could be an imposter?"

It was her turn to sigh. "No. I was concerned he'd faked his way through the psychological testing after the _Buran_ was destroyed. My working theory had been that he either had PTSD or was out for revenge. Or both. Something was definitely not right, but I couldn't quite figure out what it was. I know now, though."

"Do you? Or are you just suffering from Stockholm syndrome?"

"Don't borrow trouble, Gabriel."

"It's not like I've had anything else to do besides think about it," he snapped, voice rising. "They had me completely incommunicado. Opaqued the force fields, turned off all but emergency comms. The only people I saw were the security crew, who wouldn't tell me anything, and the doctors, who asked questions but wouldn't answer them. I didn't have a clue what was going on. For all I knew, _he'd_ managed to convince Tyler to just toss me in the brig and throw away the key code. Hell, I didn't even know _you_ were still on board until I got into this shuttle!" The last sentence was delivered as a shout. "So yeah, I might just have had a chance to think through all of the worst-case scenarios!"

"I'm sorry," she answered, deliberately dropping her voice. "If I had known, I would've ordered someone to give you an update and some information."

"But only after it was carefully vetted to make sure nobody told me too much!"

If he'd been in his right mind, he would have understood why he'd been subjected to all the security precautions. Katrina softened her tone even more. "Just try to calm down."

" _Don't tell me to calm down_ , damn it! For God's sake, Starfleet's treating me almost as badly as the Klingons did!" Turning away from her, he kicked the shuttle door in frustration. "I've had about enough of this."

"They're still trying to secure the bay, aren't they?"

The door chose that moment to slide open, revealing the brace of security guards from the _Discovery_. Both looked disheveled, and only one was still carrying his phaser. His hand tensed, not quite bringing the weapon to bear but making it clear it was primed and ready to shoot. "Captain Lorca, sir. Please sit down."

With a sound that was somewhere between a growl and a snarl, he dropped heavily back down onto the bench, glaring at each of them in turn. Including, she was dismayed to see, her.

But now wasn't the time to worry about that. "What's going on, Lieutenant? Did you apprehend the other Lorca?"

"No, ma'am," he admitted. "He got the drop on Ensign Rivers — that's our pilot — and used his breath print to unlock the shuttle bay doors. Starbase security is still in pursuit."

"Great. How soon until things are secured?"

"We don't know, but this area's already been secured, Admiral. The medical team should be here momentar — actually, here they are." He stepped aside to allow three white-uniformed officers access to the shuttle. One of them knelt down next to her.

"Admiral Cornwell?" he asked. "Why are you awake? Patients are usually sedated for medical evacuations."

"I refused sedation. Though I slept for a while during the trip anyway."

He shook his head. "What is it about flag officers and doctors that make you the worst patients? All right, then. We're going to go ahead and transfer you straight to the imaging chambers so we can see what we're up against." Before she had a chance to so much as look at Gabriel in farewell, she found herself being transferred to a gurney and pushed out of the shuttle.

So much, she thought, for knowing everything that was going on.

* * *

"One more time, Admiral. It's only three meters. Four steps, for a human female at your height."

Katrina shot the therapist a nasty look, but used the ends of the parallel bars to drag herself off the bench where she'd been resting. While medical science had come far in the past couple of centuries, shortening recovery times immensely, some parts of the process still took as long as they had when they were first developed. Including, she was learning, re-training her legs for their intended purpose.

 _One step at a time_ , she told herself, grimacing at the unintentional pun. It took six of them to get to the end of the bars instead of four, but she managed to do it properly. Her pace was even, if slow; her feet didn't drag; and she was only putting part of her weight on her hands. She still needed assistance to change position, but it seemed that she was at least making good progress on the walking part.

All the same, she sank down onto the bench at the far end of the bars with a deep sigh. "That's it for today. I don't care if it's the full recommended set or not."

"It's actually just past," said the therapist, an Andorian junior lieutenant by the name of Zhelas. "You told me at the start that you wanted the fastest recovery you could manage. It was safe enough to let you push, just a little." He handed her a cup of water. "You're sweating, and I don't like your color. Rehydrate."

She had no interest in arguing that order. The water might have had the usual flat-tasteless flavor that seemed to be required at a starbase, but its coolness was still sweet as it slid down her throat. Katrina drained the entire cup before handing it back to over. "Thanks."

"I agree that that's it for today," he told her. "Unless you want to try and walk back to the hover-chair."

It was tempting, but after eyeing the distance between the bench and the corner of the room where they'd set the chair out of the way, Katrina shook her head. "Not this time. And we probably should stick to just the recommended sets after all."

His expression was stern, but his antennae twitched in a pattern she'd learned to recognize as amusement. "As long as you don't change your mind the way you always have before."

"I'm the patient. You're supposed to cut me some slack."

Now he did laugh as he brought the chair back over, locking it into place. "You're in good enough shape to transfer yourself."

"Thank God for small favors." Her legs protested loudly, but she was able to complete the task with something remotely related to grace. "How long before I'm strong enough to graduate up to walking crutches?"

"Speaking of pushing yourself." He handed her a padd. "Here are my progress notes for the day, since I know you'll demand to see them anyway. It'll be sooner than you think. But for now, I'm going to recommend you rest for at least thirty minutes before you get back to work." She'd been back on very light duty, two or three hours per day of paperwork, communiqués, and reports, for several days now. With a start, she realized that it had, in fact, been a full week.

Which meant that it'd been at least two since she'd arrived here. And Gabriel was still in detention. Given that he was no longer under her direct command, it wasn't work to check on the progress of his release, was it? She could go ahead and start on that just as soon as she got back to her quarters.

There was no need. As she drove the hover-chair around the last corner before she reached her assigned quarters, she came face-to-face with him. Or face-to-waist, anyway. "What are you doing here?"

He raised a pants leg to show her the security anklet clasped around one boot. "They finally let me out of the cage. And your roster showed you off-duty, so…"

She reached up to palm the door lock. "Did they tell you why you're still on the anklet?"

" _He's_ still loose. They're beginning to think he found a way all the way off the starbase somehow."

The first sentence wasn't new news, but the second one was. "That doesn't explain why they're keeping a leash on you. Did they even answer your protest this time?"

"I didn't bother filing one."

"What? Why not?"

"You saw how successful the first one was, don't you? It took two weeks to even get an answer, and when it was, it was this." He gestured at the anklet. "Which isn't really all that much better, especially since I'm essentially restricted to quarters and the gym. Everything else is still too sensitive for eyes like mine. They're too much like his, I guess."

"They're nothing like his," she answered. "They don't even work the same way."

He flopped down on her couch. "Typical brass. Not a one of them could tell the difference between an armpit and an asshole even if they had shit on their noses."

"Hey," she said mildly. "Don't forget. _I'm_ brass."

"Apparently yours isn't shiny enough to get anyone to actually listen."

"I've countersigned every single one of your detention protests. I'd sign this one, too, if you'd be willing to file it."

"Why? So it can be denied like all the rest?" He shook his head. "They're not going to listen to a damn thing if it means having to admit they lost him. One of us is better than none, or something like that."

That got her attention. "They won't lose you. You're still in Starfleet."

"For now."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"That I'm done with being cooped up with nothing to do. This isn't what I signed up for, Kat. It was bad enough when we were prisoners, but now?" He shook his head. "I didn't duplicate myself. I don't even know where the hell he came from. Which means I'm damn sure not going to pay the price for anything he does."

"Nobody's saying you have to."

"This God-damned anklet says it loud and clear. And don't tell me to just be patient," he continued, reacting to the expression on her face. "I've been patient. For two fucking weeks! How much longer are you going to keep playing this game?"

"Don't put this on me," she snapped back. "I'm on your side."

"You're still brass."

"Then why the hell are you even here right now?" she exploded. "If you don't want to be around brass, maybe you _should_ be in the gym or your quarters!"

"Because I —" and then he cut himself off, blinking rapidly. "I don't know, Kat. I just…I wanted to see you. And by that I don't mean take out my frustrations. I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that."

"No," she said after a moment. "I didn't. Gabriel, are you talking to anyone? That's not the first time you've lashed out recently."

He narrowed his eyes. "It's not like I don't have good reason for it."

"I didn't say you don't. But you knew back on the Klingon ship you'd need some therapy." She raised a hand. "I'm not asking this as an admiral. I'm asking as your friend."

"Are you." But his tone was calmer, more under control now. "It hasn't really come up."

"Then it probably should."

"You'll excuse me if I don't exactly trust Starfleet medical any more than Starfleet security right now."

She sighed. "Fine. But I'm going to bring this back up, you know. For now, though, I'm going to have a quick meal and then get back to work. You're welcome to join me, or not."

"I'd like to," he said. "And I'll behave. I promise."

* * *

He did, but it wasn't the most comfortable meal they'd ever shared, and part of Katrina was relieved when he finally excused himself to return to his own quarters. "Things are already bad enough," he'd said by way of explanation. "They'll get worse if it looks like I'm trying to curry your favor."

She'd shrugged. "Canopus is on record. So is the fact that we were imprisoned together."

"Still. I don't want to make enemies on my own side." He'd hesitantly taken her hand for a moment in farewell, but hadn't initiated any other physical interaction. Given the lingering tension, it wasn't particularly surprising, but she couldn't help but to remember that there were other reasons he was avoiding touch now.

Focusing on that helped drive away the shudder brought on by his unintentional echo. _Don't make enemies on your own side_ , she'd snarled at _Discovery_ 's captain during their argument about defying orders. He'd responded by abruptly changing the tone of the conversation, pulling out a bottle of scotch and drawing on a friendship he had no right to claim. Which had led to…

Katrina shook her head, banishing the line of thought. She needed post-traumatic therapy too, of course, but there was no need to wallow in unpleasant memories.

"Computer," she said out loud, "display unread messages. Reverse chronological order."

" _Unable to comply."_

"What?"

" _Message queue is suspended until released by authorized personnel."_

"Which personnel?"

" _Chief medical officer."_

"Chief _medical_ officer?" That made no sense; she'd been complying with her providers' orders. "Cancel message display." She keyed the comm. "Cornwell to Medical Bay. What the hell is going on that I'm locked out of my work queue?"

" _Admiral,"_ said the nurse who responded. _"I was just about to call you. Please report here immediately."_

"On my way, but damn it, _why?_ "

The barest of pauses was her only warning. "We need to re-verify your identity."


	9. Chapter 9

_Star Trek_ and _Star Trek: Discovery_ are the registered trademarks and copyrighted property of CBS Corporation and CBS Television Studios. This fiction item is intended for entertainment purposes only. No compensation has been received or will be accepted for it, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended or should be implied.

* * *

 **Know Thyself  
** _Chapter Nine_

* * *

The hoverchair ruined the effect as she burst into the medical bay, but Katrina's temper made up the difference. "What the holy _hell_ is going on? I went through DNA verification on the _Discovery_. My access and queue were restored then!"

The Vulcan doctor who turned to face her showed a maddeningly calm expression. "Admiral Cornwell, there have been some developments. Please come to the laboratory."

"'Some developments?' You're going to have to do better than that!"

"Not here. Too public." A slender figure had emerged from the medical office: Commodore Černá Erzsébet, commander of Starbase Eighty-Eight.

"Beth? What are you doing here?"

"Admiral, if you would, please. Come with us." She led the way back to the lab. "Selkar, start the scan. It's non-invasive, Katrina, but it takes a while. I'll explain while it's running."

"You'd better." But she acquiesced. She and Beth were casual friends at best, but they'd worked together enough times for Katrina to know she could be trusted.

"Thank you. We finally found the difference between the two Captains Lorca. Do you know about quantum resonance signatures?"

She nodded. "All matter in our universe vibrates at the same frequency, on the quantum level."

"Right. Including biological matter, our own bodies. So it's not something they usually check for in medical exams. But we need to now."

"Why?"

Černá sighed. "Fifteen hours ago, the _Discovery_ was ambushed by two Klingon D-7 cruisers. She took them both out, but the second one went on a ramming run when their warp core started to breach. It hit the _Discovery_ one second after matter-antimatter containment failed."

All the blood drained from Katrina's face. "The cascade reaction?"

"You know how it works. It hadn't had time to finish. All matter on both ships was destroyed except for some of _Discovery_ 's hull plating that had come off earlier during the firefight."

"Oh, God." She let her head fall back, and for a long moment, she couldn't speak. "That crew had so many of the best and brightest. Some of them were my friends."

"I'm sorry, Katrina."

Clenching her fists, she fought back the tears that were threatening and forced her train of thought back into the moment. "Wait a minute. Hull plating came off during the firefight? Did the Klingons have a near-miss after bringing down her shields?"

"No. It was structural failure."

"That's not possible. Starfleet engineers design ships' superstructures to withstand twice the engines' stress output."

"Which is why we ordered a sample brought back for testing," said Černá. "Once they figured out it wasn't Starfleet issue, they ran tests to see if they could figure out where it came from. The idea was to use quantum-level properties to trace it back to its origin so we'd know where to look to find out why it was on _Discovery_ 's hull. That was when we found it had a completely different quantum resonance signature."

It took her a second to work through that, but when she did, her jaw nearly dropped. "You think it was from _another universe?_ "

"It's the most likely explanation."

She gestured to Dr. Selkar, who was finishing up with the equipment in the lab. "What does that have to do with this?"

"If the _Discovery_ had an encounter with an alternate universe," he answered, "it stands to reason that its personnel might have as well. We were correct. One of the captains has the same quantum resonance signature as the hull plating."

Her gut clenched. "Which one?"

"The one who escaped," said Černá. "The one imprisoned with you is from our universe."

"Damn it. I knew something was off when I went out there after he started openly defying orders." Why hadn't she pushed harder to remove him from command right away? She could easily have transmitted a full report before leaving the ship for Cancri IV.

 _Because he begged you not to take his ship, begged you like a child. And you let him get away with it, because you_ _'ve always had a tremendous blind spot when it comes to Gabriel._ Except that it hadn't been Gabriel.

Katrina shook her head to clear it, focusing back on the doctor, who had turned to speak to Černá. "Commodore, her identity is confirmed. The admiral's quantum resonance signature matches our universe."

"Good. I'll re-release your security clearance, then, Katrina."

"What about Captain Lorca?" she asked. "Isn't this good enough to let him all the way out of detention?"

"I gave the order right before you got here. But you'll have to ask him about anything after that. You know how privacy regulations work."

"I wrote some of them." But if there'd been good news, Beth likely would have found a way to tell her about it anyway.

She wondered whether Gabriel had managed to keep his temper in check.

* * *

"It's nothing unexpected." He stared out the tiny porthole in the quarters they'd assigned him aboard the starbase. "They're sending me back to Earth. Inpatient treatment at Starfleet Medical."

"For how long?"

"A couple weeks. At least."

"You're…" she trailed off, carefully considering her words. "Remarkably accepting of this, given the way you've always felt about therapy."

He shrugged, half-turning so that she could see part of his face. "Some of those mental tricks you taught me on the Ship of the Dead are really useful. I wouldn't mind learning more."

"You really expect me to buy that?"

"What do you want me to say? That I'm angry?" He turned fully toward her now, but his affect was still too calm, too controlled. "Fine, then. I'm angry. But not about this. It's about where I'm being assigned afterward. Security HQ." He spat the words out as if they tasted bad.

"What's the matter with Security HQ?"

"Because I need to get back _out_ there!" His calm evaporated all at once. "I've already been off the line for seven months. It'll be longer once I'm out of the hospital. I'm losing my edge!"

"You've been grounded longer than this before."

"Not during a war! Not as a captain!" He began pacing. "And Starfleet's short on ship commanders right now, especially ones with advanced tactical training. Why aren't they sending me back out?"

"You don't know they won't," she argued. "This could just be temporary, could be a chance for you to train some of those other commanders."

"Oh, come _on_ , Kat." He scoffed. "It isn't marked as TDY. Besides, don't you think Starfleet would _tell_ me if they meant to give me another ship? They don't! It's obvious! It's —" he cut himself off abruptly, closing his eyes and breathing in and out heavily. His fingers twitched, and with a start she realized he was working through a mental calming exercise.

Well, at least he was doing that, she reflected, though the obvious manner was worrisome.

He opened his eyes again. "I'm sorry. I just…you said it yourself. I'm getting worked up too easily these days, so I do need to get that back under control. But after that I need to get back out. I don't need to be buried in Security and forgotten about!"

"Try to think through this rationally," she suggested. "What would be the benefit of burying you?"

"Who knows? Who cares? They're just trying to get me to go away so they don't have to deal with _him!_ And you know what?" he continued. "I just might. I have my time in."

"Now, don't do anything you'll regret —"

"I'm not. 'Fleet is."

"Listen to yourself!" she argued, struggling to keep her voice from rising. "What if one of your crew came to you saying things like 'I'm losing my edge' and 'I just might go away'? Not to mention 'Starfleet's doing something they'll regret.' You'd be on the comm to Sickbay so fast their head would spin!"

"I already said I'm okay with the psych treatment! It's the Security assignment that's the problem!"

"So protest it! You'll have time!"

"Like I protested detention?" He was breathing heavily, face flushed. "You saw how well that worked!"

"You're out, aren't you?"

He turned away, hand slamming hard against the bulkhead, but it seemed the momentary violence was enough to bring him back to himself because he went utterly still afterward. His eyes closed again, and she could see him fighting for even breathing, forcibly relaxing his shoulders. Sweat beaded at his hairline.

"Why are we arguing about everything, Kat?" he finally asked, head still bowed. "We worked so well together against the Klingons, but it seems like ever since we got off their ship, we've…" he trailed off, turning to face her with anguish in his eyes. "I don't like this."

"I don't either," she admitted, uncertain what else she could say.

He scrubbed his hands through his hair. "I guess…I don't know. We probably ought to talk about it, because otherwise it'll be left unfinished, but —"

"We don't have to talk about it now," she replied. "Maybe a distraction would be better for a little while. I can come back another time."

Gabriel's lips twitched. "I'm shipping out first thing in the morning."

"So soon?"

"Yeah." It came out as a sigh. "Which is why I wish you'd stay. Got any ideas for distractions?"

* * *

"All right," read Gabriel. His voice had gone a little scratchy. "He would write a book when he got through with this. But only about the things he knew, truly, and about what he knew. But I will have to be a much better writer than I am now to handle them, he thought. The things he had come to know in this war were not so simple."

"They never are," said Katrina softly. "In any war."

"Isn't that the truth." He took a long swig of water before putting the glass back down on the table next to her couch. "That's the end of the chapter. Next one?"

"You up for it?"

"I am if you are. Or we could switch off, if you want a turn."

She chuckled; she'd told him once how much she loved the sound of his voice when he read out loud. He'd quipped back that it might be the only time she ever shut up and listened to it, but she hadn't missed the undertone of pleasure at the compliment. Ever since then, he had done most of the reading whenever they shared a book.

"Katrina?"

"What? Oh. Sorry. No, you can go ahead and start the next one."

They'd fallen back to one of their old habits, finding their way down to the lower levels of the starbase to look for local eateries. Unfortunately, their uniforms and Katrina's hoverchair had attracted more attention than they wanted, and they'd ducked into the nearest open shop for a moment of quiet. It had turned out to be, of all things, a book seller, specializing in actual bound volumes. This one, printed in both English and Standard, had been down near the floor in the back. Even the shop owner had forgotten it was there, he'd told them as he'd wrapped it up.

"If I start," asked Gabriel now, "will you still be awake when I finish it?"

"This author isn't particularly long-winded."

"Yeah, but we've been at it for a couple of hours." Still, he opened the book up again and resumed reading. For nostalgia's sake, they'd chosen to go with the English version. "'What do you do sitting there?' Maria asked him. She was standing close beside him and he turned his head and smiled at her."

Which, she thought, sounded like a good idea. Smiling, she shifted a bit closer to him and then nestled down to keep listening.

The next thing she knew, he was shaking her. "C'mon, Kat. You said you'd stay awake."

She blinked muzzily. "No, I didn't. I said this author's not wordy."

He chuckled. "Okay. Point. But if you're that tired, you probably ought to sleep in your bed instead of on the couch."

At another time, the comment would have been an innuendo. But recent events on the look on his face made it clear he meant the words at face value this time. "What time is it?"

"Twenty-three forty."

"God, I'm getting old," she muttered as she sat up. "Time was I could last a lot longer than this."

"Time was you weren't recovering from major surgery," he countered. "You need more rest than usual."

"Oh, don't mother-hen me." But the yawn that accompanied the words ruined their effect.

"Uh-huh. Need a hand getting back into the chair?"

"No, I can do it," she said. "Just — can you stand up a minute?"

He did, turning to hold his arms out so she could use them to lever herself up off the couch. He held still until she was on her feet, and then slipped one arm around her waist to steady her. She rested her hands on his chest, looking up. "I'm going to miss you."

"Me, too," he answered, his eyes searching hers. This near-embrace was almost the closest they'd been, physically, since they'd first encountered each other on the Ship of the Dead. She wondered if it was too close for him, but his stance was steady and his breathing was normal.

Well, mostly. There was just the slightest hitch as his pupils dilated, and she felt his free hand brushing back her hair before he leaned his forehead against hers. Katrina closed her eyes, willing herself to simply stop thinking and experience the moment. His skin was warming, but then a tremor crept into his fingers and, just as she might have shuffled closer, she felt him stiffen.

With a deep sigh, Gabriel stepped back. "Damn it."

"It'll come back with time. I know it's not me."

"I know you know. It's just that —" he broke off, taking a deep breath, his jaw firming. Then, so fast she was startled, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. "You'd think I could manage something just this once."

"This isn't the last time we'll see each other."

"It better not be." Settling her into the hoverchair, he handed her the closed book. There was a scrap of wrapping paper between two pages. "I marked our place."

She met his eyes one more time. "I'll keep it there."

* * *

"Four more steps, Admiral."

Katrina swung the right crutch forward, moving her left foot with it. Then she repeated the motion with the left crutch and right foot, maintaining the rhythm through another cycle afterward. This one took her slightly past the fifteen-meter line that Zhelas had marked on the gymnasium floor.

"That's it," she said. Despite being winded, she was able to remain on her feet. "And don't tell me I'm over the recommended set again. It's past time I managed this."

"Actually," he told her, "it's right on time. I'd thought I might be leaving here with an empty hoverchair today."

"You did? And will you?"

"Yes," he answered. "And yes. I'm releasing you to the walking crutches full-time, and to unassisted walking as you think you can. Congratulations, Admiral Cornwell. Your physical therapy's done. From here you can just keep doing what you're doing. You'll know when you're ready to get rid of the crutches."

She couldn't hold back the grin; the triumph felt as good as any medal of recognition she'd received. "Any activity restrictions?"

"Not officially, but keep in mind that if you overdo it, the doctors will send you right back to me." His antennae tilted forward. "And you don't want that to happen, because if you thought I was tough before, you'll think I'm an absolute martinet then. That's a promise, not a threat. Sir."

"I'll remember that, Lieutenant," she replied. "And thank you. For everything."

She had to stop and rest twice on her way back to her duty station — she'd finally been given one along with full-time hours — but she was still almost giddy. This was a major milestone, one worthy of celebration, and damn it, she wanted to celebrate.

But her smile faded as she got to the door.

There was no one left on the starbase who she could celebrate with.

For therapeutic reasons, Gabriel's communications were being limited. They'd exchanged a handful of short written messages, but it'd be a while yet before she'd see his face or hear his voice: the original fourteen-day treatment plan had been extended out first to thirty, then sixty, and as of his last letter, a full ninety days.

 _They can_ _'t hold me any longer than that without independent review_ , he'd noted in his last letter. _So I doubt there_ _'ll be another extension. It doesn't look good for me getting that ship assignment though._

She hadn't liked agreeing, but he was right, and any protest from her would be seen as biased. So Katrina had reluctantly stayed silent, beyond giving a little rein to her dismay in her return message. She had to be careful not to trip the automated semantic checkers; protocol required monitoring of patients' messages, but it wasn't always done by human beings.

Releasing the crutch cuffs from her upper arms, she swung down into her chair. As usual, the message light was blinking. Ever since she'd returned to full duty, her queue had never been less than seventy percent full. There were days she struggled to keep it below a hundred.

"Computer," she ordered, "display messages. Reverse chronological order."

" _Unable to comply."_

"What? Not again!"

" _Inquiry not understood."_

"Advise status of this communications panel. Is it restricted?"

" _Negative. However, you have an awaiting Priority One message."_

"Play it, then," she snapped. The screen cleared, showing Admiral Terral, standing in front of an unfamiliar wall.

" _Admiral Cornwell,"_ he told her. _"We have received word that you will be cleared for starship travel within forty-eight hours. At that time, you will be required to take the first available transport to Starfleet Headquarters, and to report immediately to Admiral Komack's office upon arrival."_ He paused, and despite his typical Vulcan inscrutability, she could tell his next words came with difficulty. _"It has become necessary to convene a Board of Inquiry to review your recent actions."_

* * *

 _Katrina and Gabriel are reading For Whom the Bell Tolls, by Ernest Hemingway. The idea that he reads out loud to her comes from the head canons being discussed on Tumblr, though for the life of me I couldn't find the original author when I tried. (If anyone knows, please go over there and PM me a link! Thanks!)_


	10. Chapter 10

_Star Trek_ and _Star Trek: Discovery_ are the registered trademarks and copyrighted property of CBS Corporation and CBS Television Studios. This fiction item is intended for entertainment purposes only. No compensation has been received or will be accepted for it, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended or should be implied.

* * *

 **Know Thyself  
** _Chapter Ten_

* * *

Legal proceedings, she knew, included more than a little bit of theater. The facts and evidence were important, of course, but so was the way they were presented. Context mattered. So did appearances, which was why Katrina chose not to downplay the presence of her crutches. Let the inquiry board remember just how much being a Starfleet officer had cost her.

Her lawyer had raised his eyebrows when she told him what she was doing, but the expression had been followed by a chuckle. "Good for you, Admiral. The board won't stand a chance against an attitude like that."

She hadn't been so sanguine, but there was no reason to dampen his enthusiasm, so she'd simply changed the subject, moving along to their procedural planning. Now, after arriving in the courtroom for the first time, she forced herself to sit ramrod-straight in the chair. Showing battle injuries was one thing. Showing defeat was quite another.

At least Admiral Terral was seated in the witness section instead of on the hearing board. The corners of his eyes had crinkled slightly as she'd come in, momentarily softening his usual near-scowl, but she doubted anyone else noticed.

"Admiral Katrina Cornwell," intoned Admiral Shukar, who was chairing the board. "You have the right to be aware of the accusations that have been made against you. Please stand."

Her lawyer signaled her to remain seated. "The Admiral would stand except for the nature of her injuries."

"The Admiral's recovery status is known to this board. She came into the room on her feet."

"With considerable difficulty, and if whatever you're planning to read is going to take a while —"

Katrina bit her lip and pulled herself up using the edge of the table. "It's all right, Commander Masri." She'd save her battles for later.

"Thank you," said Shukar, inclining his antennae briefly as he picked up a padd. "Admiral Cornwell, this is not a court-martial, and you are not on trial. The purpose of this hearing is to determine whether such an action is necessary. Serious accusations have been raised about certain of your command decisions while assigned to the _Crossfield_ project.

"Specifically: you have been accused of giving an illegal order to search out and capture members of a potentially-sentient species for a purpose which could be described as enslavement. You have been accused of intentionally taking no action upon learning that a Starfleet officer under your indirect command was engaging in illegal genetic manipulation. You have been accused of potential dereliction of duty after failing to identify a Starfleet officer under your _direct_ command as an imposter.

"Finally, you have been accused of exceeding your authority by attempting to continue an unsanctioned diplomatic activity. The fact that said activity was initiated by a properly trained and accredited representative of the Federation does not excuse the extent of the danger to which you exposed both yourself and your privileged knowledge of Starfleet operations."

He laid down the padd. "Admiral, are you familiar with each of the situations I have referenced in these charges?"

"Yes," she answered, and she was: the tardigrades. Paul Stamets. Gabriel Lorca. Cancri IV.

"Are you, at this time, prepared to respond to questions from the board? You should be aware, Admiral, that your replies can and very well may be used during a subsequent court-martial."

She took a breath. "Yes. I'm prepared."

"You don't wish to invoke your right against self-incrimination?"

 _Rules are for admirals in back offices!_ the fake Lorca had shouted at her when she'd confronted him about Stamets. _I'm out there trying to win a war!_

It was ironic, she thought, that in the end, he'd actually accomplished that. That she was the one who was about to take the fall for the rule-breaking was, in a way, almost poetic.

Almost. After all, there might be some difference of opinion about whether rules had truly been broken.

"Admiral?" Shukar prompted.

"No," she said now. "I won't need to invoke any rights to silence. Go ahead and swear me in."

* * *

In the week and a half it had taken to present testimony and evidence, she'd managed to almost work her way up to walking a hundred meters without the crutches. Still, Katrina kept bringing them with her, since there were days that the hearing itself left her too exhausted to manage even ten without assistance.

Admiral Drake was leading the questioning this afternoon. "In your opinion, Admiral Terral, did Admiral Cornwell exercise prudent judgment when she accepted Ambassador Sarek's request to stand in for him at the negotiations on Cancri IV?"

"Yes," said Terral, keeping his eyes focused on Commander Masri. "She did. She insisted on a full security detail and on transmitting all pertinent records prior to her arrival. She also personally locked down the shuttle's information systems, using multiple encryption methods, to prevent infiltration. Admiral Cornwell would not have taken such a step if she had not suspected a trap. She was equally aware that failing to report to Cancri IV could have led to accusations of Federation insincerity, as the Klingons were unaware that the talks were not officially sanctioned. In my opinion, both her judgment and her actions were sound."

Katrina glanced over at the prosecutor's table, surprised they hadn't objected to receiving a speech in response to a yes-or-no question. Nobody glanced back.

Masri flicked his eyes to the hearing panel. "No further questions, Sirs, and that was our last witness."

Since this wasn't a full trial, there would be no closing statements. After Terral stepped down, the admirals huddled together briefly and then returned to their seats. "This hearing stands adjourned," announced Shukar. "We will deliberate and issue our decision when complete. Until then, all parties are dismissed. Thank you."

"So now we wait," she said as Masri sat down at their table. "Any ideas how long it will take?"

"No," he admitted, "but I'm still optimistic. We got to present our side of the case fairly, and the facts look good. The board didn't shut down any lines of testimony that showed you in a positive light. That's even better."

She nodded, pushing to her feet. Masri stayed by her side as she made her way down the aisle toward the back of the room. "Do you need assistance, Admiral?"

"No," she gritted out.

"Do you think it went well, then?" he asked.

"I don't know," she admitted.

"Well, didn't you see the admirals' faces? No," he continued. "Of course not. You were too busy thinking through things. They could tell you were doing that, you know. Thinking before reacting. But since you have a reputation for doing that, it didn't hurt you. It might've even helped. Getting back to the testimony though, I was watching expressions, and at least Drake and Nerevin seemed like they could see your side of it."

By her estimation, twelve steps remained between her and the hearing room door.

The lawyer kept on going. "I think our defense strategy worked. Every decision you made, you made because you realized it's been years since Starfleet had to fight a full-scale war. Since the Romulans, really, last century, and everyone who fought in _that_ is dead. Or at least retired. So current types of thinking wouldn't have worked. We needed out-of-the-box thinking, which is why you were willing to give Captain Lorca more latitude than normal."

Six steps to go. "No, Masri, I was ordered to give him that latitude."

"True, which is a point in your favor. And it's not like you were the one who administered the evaluations after the _Buran_ was destroyed. So you can't be held entirely responsible for failing to identify him. That's a point in your favor, too. He fooled everyone, not just you, and it's worth noting he fought pretty well for our side before he was unmasked."

Just two more steps. Once they were out of the room, there were any number of good excuses she could use to beg off any further conversation and go lie down somewhere.

"…think about my Plan B?"

Katrina stopped and turned just as the doors slid open. "What was that?"

"I said, have you had a chance to think about my Plan B?" he asked, gently guiding her toward a bench in the hallway. "In case they do vote for court-martial?"

"I thought you were feeling optimistic that it wouldn't."

"I am. But that doesn't mean it won't be smart to anticipate it, since it'll go fast if things go that direction."

Her lips firmed as she sat down, balancing the crutches in front of her. "I'm not going to plead diminished capacity, or undue stress, or anything like that, if that's what you're talking about. I'd have made every single one of those decisions again."

"Even if you had known that Captain Lorca was an imposter?"

Her temper started to unravel. "The point of my defense, Commander, was that I didn't. He fooled everyone, not just me, and the need to fight this war colored all our thinking. _Including_ Command's!" When she took a breath to continue, the corridor began to spin. She automatically reached out to the wall behind her to steady herself, only remembering the crutches when they clattered loudly on the floor.

His expression changed. "Admiral, you're not all right."

Had he only now noticed? "I'll be fine once I get some rest."

"Should I call someone to take you back to your apartment?"

She began to object, but then thought about the distance between the transport station and her front door. Closing her eyes, she nodded. "Yeah. You probably should."

"Do you need a medic, as well?"

"No. Just peace and quiet."

"Well, you should be able to get some while we're waiting," replied Masri as he made for the comm panel a few steps away. "Though hopefully, it won't be too long."

* * *

" _Access restricted."_

Katrina rolled her eyes. "Fine. Search Starfleet Medical database. Authorization Cornwell, Dr. Katrina, security level pi-beta-four."

The computer interface paused, giving her a chance to key a manual sequence she'd learned a long time ago, while working with civilian computer scientists at the Daystrom Institute. She was a psychologist, not an information systems specialist, so this wasn't easy. But there was something to be said for dogged determination, and her lockouts at Cancri IV had been so successful that the Klingons had slagged the shuttle's computers out of frustration.

 _Apparently I'm better at hacking than I realized._

In front of her, the console screen cleared and reset itself. _"Medical records available."_

"Status of Captain Gabriel Lorca?"

" _Released to next duty assignment, SD 1187.4."_ Unfortunately, she'd been locked out of the specifics of that assignment, which is why she was looking in the medical records now.

"Access outpatient follow-up records." Maybe they'd contain clues about that elusive duty assignment.

" _Working. None found."_

Katrina blinked. "None found, or none available?"

" _None found."_

Okay, then. She wasn't going to find Gabriel using his medical records. Leaning back in her chair, Katrina took a long sip from the coffee she'd replicated and then made a face: it'd gone cold. A glance at the chrono confirmed it was nearly noon on this, the second day since the hearing had gone into deliberation.

She'd spent most of yesterday asleep, getting up only to make her way back and forth to the restroom and for glasses of water. This morning, though, Katrina had woken up at her normal time and discovered she was not only decently rested, but able to leave the crutches by her bedside as she moved around her apartment.

Within a couple of hours, though, she'd also discovered she had nothing to do.

What was taking so long?

Shaking her head to clear it, she bent over the desk and back to her self-appointed task. "Computer, scan public records for any recent directory or address listings for Captain Gabriel Lorca."

" _None found."_

Another blank wall. "None found, or record restricted?"

" _None found. Admiral, you have an incoming transmission from Commander Abdallah Masri."_

"Pause search and accept. Masri, is this what I think it is?"

" _Yes, ma'am,"_ he answered. _"They're convening in an hour. Do you need transport?"_

She glanced at the bedroom, where she'd left her crutches, and debated for a long moment. "No. I'll see you in an hour."

* * *

There had been a time she'd have counted Shukar as, while perhaps not a friend, at least a friendly colleague. That time, Katrina realized, was not today. His face, as he met her eyes, was as impassive as a Vulcan's. "Admiral Cornwell, are you prepared to hear the decision of this board?"

"Yes," she said. "Let's get on with it."

His eyes twitched at her informal phrasing, but he otherwise ignored it. "Very well, then. It is the decision of this board that a court-martial is not warranted in this case."

She couldn't help the huge sigh of relief. Out of the corner of her eye, Masri grinned.

"However," he continued, and now he dropped his eyes to the padd in front of him. Masri's grin disappeared. "It is our judgment that some of your decisions were inappropriate, made without due consideration, and may possibly have been biased. Your conduct was not criminal. However, it also failed to meet the high level of expectations associated with upper flag rank."

Her hands clenched on the table in front of her.

"It is therefore our decision that disciplinary action should be taken, and that it should be significant. You are hereby reduced to the rank of Captain, with the associated reduction in salary and benefits. Future promotion back to flag rank, if any, will be subject to extremely strict scrutiny. You are also being removed from the _Crossfield_ project and reassigned to a less sensitive post which will be determined by Starfleet Operations.

"Do you understand the sanctions against you, Captain Cornwell?"

It was an effort to get the word out. "Yes."

"Do you have any statement at this time?"

Masri looked at her expectantly, but she shook her head. "None, sir."

"Then these proceedings are concluded. You will report to the Starfleet Operations office in three days and will be on a paid leave of absence until then. Dismissed."

Outside the courtroom, Masri turned to her. "We'll get started on the appeal right away."

"No, we won't."

"What? _Three_ ranks? That was way too harsh!"

"It's the highest non-flag rank," she said, noting almost absently that her hands were still so tightly clenched that the knuckles were going white. "It makes sense."

"No it doesn't! There's no need to take you off the line, either. What are you thinking, Captain?"

 _Captain_. The word grated. "It means that Captain Lorca, wherever he is, was right."

Starfleet meant to bury this.

* * *

"Delivery for Captain Cornwell."

Even after two weeks, she still wasn't used to hearing that, although she'd finally managed to train herself not to react. Katrina's expression was bland as she looked up from the treatment reports she was reviewing. "I don't recall ordering anything."

The courier hesitating in her doorway shrugged and checked his padd. "It's right here, ma'am. An order of moo goo gai pan for Captain Katrina Cornwell, Starfleet Medical Mental Health division. Is that you?"

"Yes, I'm Cornwell." She stood to accept the delivery, which smelled delicious, and with a start realized it was nearly lunch time. "Thank you. Who ordered the meal?"

"According to this, you did."

She frowned, but there was no point arguing with the courier. Instead, accepted the meal and carried it back to her desk. Steam wafted out of the entrée box when she opened it, making her mouth water in response, particularly when she noticed that the restaurant had skipped the cabbage. Whoever had ordered this apparently knew her preferences.

Digging back into the bag, she pulled out the condiments and found two fortune cookies among them. Her breath caught, the food forgotten as she opened the wrappers. The first one was a generic platitude: _know thyself and all will be revealed_. The second one, though, was exactly what she thought it would be.

 _Merely to blow the bridge is a failure._

It was from the first chapter of the book she and Gabriel had shared at Starbase Eighty-Eight. Katrina turned the slip of paper over. The string of numbers looked innocuous at first glance, but they were clearly coordinates written in the old-fashioned latitude-longitude manner.

Smiling to herself, she sat down and turned back to the meal.


	11. Chapter 11

_Star Trek_ and _Star Trek: Discovery_ are the registered trademarks and copyrighted property of CBS Corporation and CBS Television Studios. This fiction item is intended for entertainment purposes only. No compensation has been received or will be accepted for it, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended or should be implied.

* * *

 **Know Thyself  
** _Chapter Eleven_

* * *

It had taken her most of the afternoon to track down the location referenced in the coordinates; the old-fashioned latitude/longitude method was inexact when there weren't enough decimal places. That she had to run the search in the background while working on other things had complicated the matter.

Trust Gabriel not to make things easy. He hadn't included a time stamp at all, so while she was eventually able to figure out where he was suggesting she go, she had no idea when he meant to be there. She'd simply taken her best guess.

Madame Chang's was a San Francisco tradition. Once she finished placing her dinner order, Katrina leaned back in the booth she'd requested, watching the wait staff for a while, noting their body language. There was one waiter whose irritation was universal except when his rounds took him back to the kitchen to pick up orders. Amused, she wondered who was in the kitchen and whether they knew that one of their co-workers was sweet on them.

"Here we go. One order of pork adobo, and one of fried mashi."

"I didn't order fried…" but she trailed off, seeing Gabriel's crooked smile. "Oh."

"I send you your favorite take out lunch and then bring you dinner in person, and all you have to say is 'oh'? I'm wounded."

"Oh, sit down," she answered, but her attempt at sternness was ruined by the relieved chuckle she couldn't suppress. She'd guessed correctly.

He did as he was told, eagerly digging into the pasta. "Waiting and smelling all this good food made me really hungry."

"How long have you been here?"

"Couple hours," he answered after swallowing. "I knew you wouldn't be able to get off-duty early, but I wasn't sure exactly when your shift ended."

She leaned forward. "Where have you been? I've been looking for you ever since I got back to Earth."

"Around. Eat, before it gets cold."

Katrina narrowed her eyes, but he clearly wasn't going to talk right away. Besides, the food _was_ good. After they finished, she flicked her eyes back up. "Now are you going to tell me where you're posted? I went over to Security HQ, but nobody over there knew anything."

"I'm not posted anywhere. I left Starfleet."

"You _what?"_

"Why are you so surprised, Kat?" asked Gabriel as he folded his napkin. "I told you I wasn't going to put up with it if they didn't send me back out on the line."

"Yes, but I didn't —"

"You didn't think I was serious? That it was the anger talking?" He shook his head. "No. I meant it."

"And how exactly does quitting Starfleet get you back out on the line?" she countered.

"I didn't quit," he corrected her. "On paper, it's a retirement, which means I kept all my credentials. Including the flight certification."

She was still trying to wrap her head around the news. "You've not been a pilot for years."

"Not true," he replied. "I've piloted a ship as recently as a week ago." He shrugged. "But it's in for repairs now, so I'm at loose ends for the moment. I'm using the time to get myself sorted out and catch up on everything that's going on, now that the war's pretty much over." Decoding the Klingons' cloaking algorithm had proved to be a critical breakthrough; without the ability to hide from Starfleet sensors, the Klingons had been forced to retreat back behind their traditional borders. Despite the lack of an official cease-fire or treaty, fighting had died down to occasional skirmishes.

Most Federation citizens had turned their attention back toward whatever internal issues they'd shoved aside in favor of the war effort. There were already reports of revitalized independence movements on some of the colony worlds.

Katrina took a moment to fold her own napkin. "I suppose Starfleet's going to be reducing itself back down to pre-war staffing levels anyway. Command may have been relieved to not have to find you a ship."

"Didn't you hear me? Command wouldn't have given me a ship even if the Klingons had hit Starbase One! Half of my 'treatment' was debriefing and telling me I couldn't possibly have experienced what I did. They wanted to make sure I hadn't been surgically altered or turned into some kind of sleeper agent. As if I'd want to do anything to help the Klingons after what they did to me!"

"You can't blame 'Fleet for wanting to double check."

"I suppose not. But it doesn't mean I have to keep playing their game."

"Fair enough," she allowed, "but it doesn't explain why I couldn't find you. If you're simply retired and working as a pilot, why isn't that on record anywhere? Why the secrecy? I've been looking for you for nearly two months, ever since I landed here. Where have you been? And if you've been hiding, why reach out to me now?"

He looked away for a long moment and then sighed, signaling for their bill. "It's complicated. But there were good reasons."

"What were they?"

His eyes met hers. "Not here. Let's finish up and take a walk."

* * *

It had been clear earlier, but during the time they'd been in the restaurant, clouds had rolled in and begun to lower. The streetlights reflected off them, their haziness reflecting the discernible increase in humidity. But it wasn't raining yet. In fact, the air was almost unseasonably warm, and they weren't the only couple out enjoying the evening air.

Gabriel's hand brushed hers. "I should've asked if you're all right for walking."

She looked down to see his fingers twitching near her wrist and gave in to the impulse to lace hers in between them, stroking the back of his hand with her thumb. "I wouldn't have agreed if I wasn't, but it won't be very fast or very long."

"Fair enough." His gaze fell on her shoulders and the braid there. "I still can't believe they busted you all the way back down to captain. Why so far?"

The answer had become automatic by now. "They wanted me out of flag ranks."

"After all you went through? Why'd you stay?"

This answer, too, was automatic. "Starfleet's still my best career option, and I'm not ready to retire from working yet."

"Hmm." He was keeping an easy pace, his hand warm around hers. In the distance, one of the couples she'd noticed merged into a single silhouette.

"What?"

A shrug rippled down his arm. "What is it you shrinks say? It's not a river in Africa?"

Katrina stopped walking so she could turn and face him. "This isn't denial."

"Isn't it? 'Starfleet's still my best career option,'" he quoted. "You sound like you're reciting the Federation charter by rote. No inflection, no feeling. Just something you've trained yourself to say over and over again. And hell, Kat, you _know_ you didn't deserve that. Not three ranks, not getting shunted off to push papers at Starfleet Medical. Anyone would be angry. Why aren't you?"

"It…" how could she explain it? "I am. I just don't see much purpose to it, so I focus my energy elsewhere."

"Mm-hmm. Sure sounds like denial to me."

She felt her lips thin. "We were talking about you. All the secrecy, all the silence. What are you hiding from?"

"Hiding? Is that what you think I'm doing?" He chuckled, though his eyes remained sober. "No, Kat, that's not it. I was just out of touch for a while. Way out of touch. Not to mention, so busy I lost track of time. I didn't even realize how long it had been until I saw something on the news about the _Crossfield_ project getting canceled. It mentioned that an admiral had been demoted. There was only one person that could have meant."

She frowned; the _Crossfield_ cancellation had only been public for a couple of days now, and the project had never been terribly newsworthy. "So you just decided to look me up, is that it? Then why the fortune cookie? Why not just call? My comm code's still the same."

He shrugged again. "Figured you'd get a kick out of it."

"You could've explained that in the restaurant."

"Maybe I just wanted to take a walk. Assuming the weather keeps cooperating. I think I just felt a raindrop."

Katrina rolled her eyes. "There you go again. Changing the subject. What do I have to do to get a real answer instead of a line of bullshit?"

"I'm not the only one who's evading." But he sighed, running his free hand through his hair. "I wish I could answer you. I really do. But I can't."

"Why?"

"Would you believe it's because of a special security clearance?"

"No," she answered. "You quit Starfleet. Or retired, at least."

"There _is_ such a thing as security-cleared civilian work."

"Not for pilots. Starfleet officers usually fly official government transports."

"Usually. Not always. I'm not lying, Kat. It's sensitive, but it is piloting work, which means down time when the ship is in for repair." He paused. "And I wanted to see you. Is that so horrible?"

She sighed, giving in. He wouldn't be budged, and it wasn't as if she'd never held anything back from him before, especially when she had still been an admiral. "No."

"Good." As he lifted her hand to brush his lips across the fingers, something wet landed on it: another raindrop. His eyes flicked up to meet hers as he kissed the spot dry.

She couldn't hold back the smile. "Now you're flirting."

"You say that like there's something wrong with flirting."

"And that, _Mister_ Lorca, was a line." But she felt another drop of water; it landed on her forehead this time. The other couples that had been around all seemed to have already sought shelter. "I think you're right about the rain."

"At least it's warm tonight."

"Yeah, but the rain isn't." She indicated a nearby doorway. "Come on. There's an awning over there. We should be able to get under it before it really starts coming down."

"Oh, it's not that bad yet." But he followed her, and in the end, she was proved right: the sprinkles abruptly shifted to a downpour when they were a few meters away. Breaking into a run was automatic, but she was still unsteady enough that she crashed into the side of the doorway. Gabriel's arms came up around her, steadying her. "Easy."

"Thanks. I'm all right. Even if we are in the middle of a cliché."

His arms slid down to rest lightly on her hips. "We are?"

"Yeah. Two people walking together on a warm and rainy night, then ducking into close quarters for shelter? How many times have you read that in a book or seen it in a holoplay?"

"Not often, in San Francisco's weather." The hands on her hips twitched slightly.

She glanced down at them. "You all right with this?"

He took a sharp breath, but nodded. "Yeah. It wasn't just debriefing while I was in the hospital. Sometimes I had to insist, but we worked on this, too. The touching, the…intimacy. And this…" his eyes met hers. "This is okay. I know who you are."

"It's not always as easy as that."

"I know. But I'm determined." One hand slid to her jaw, tracing it lightly. "Back on the Starbase, when we were saying goodbye, I hated that I couldn't kiss you properly."

When had her voice turned husky? "Are you saying you could now?"

"I think so," he breathed. "If you're okay with me trying, that is."

"Yeah. Just be sure to stop, if you're not sure."

He nodded once before his lips covered hers. It started gentle, the way it had on the Klingon ship, the way it might have been on the Starbase. Just as they reached the point where he'd had to pull away before, though, he exhaled hard and pulled her closer. Closing her eyes, Katrina leaned into the kiss, parting her lips in invitation. He responded by deepening it, sliding one hand into her hair as she wrapped her arms around his neck, relishing the sensation. It'd been so long since she'd kissed Gabriel…

 _Well, this Gabriel, anyway. The real one._

Pressing closer, she willed the thought away. Moments like these were supposed to be felt, not analyzed.

Gradually, she became aware that Gabriel was pressing her against the door, using the leverage to lift her slightly, and that the kiss had become open-mouthed. Blatantly sensual. Both of them were making soft, inarticulate noises and her hands were stroking his neck and shoulders, clenching and releasing.

When they came up for air, he rested his forehead against hers. "Wow. That was more than I thought it could be."

"You complaining?"

"Anything but."

She took a sharp breath of her own. "My place isn't far."

"Your pl…" he trailed off. "You mean that?"

"If you're okay with trying."

"I am. As long as you stop, if you're not sure."

* * *

The trip back to her flat was enough to leave them soaked and shivering. Katrina pulled Gabriel toward her bathroom, turning the shower as hot as she could stand as they shucked their clothes. He stumbled a little as they stepped over the threshold but recovered right away, reclaiming her mouth with a soft growl. She reveled in the moment, backing against the wall and pulling him closer, trying to wrap a leg around his waist.

"No." He broke away, shaking his head. "Not yet."

"You need to stop?"

"Uh-uh. Just going to take my time." Taking her bottle of body wash off the ledge, he continued. "Turn around. That's it. You're so beautiful." His hands, slippery with soap, traced over her body. "I've thought about this. Just touching you, everywhere. The way you move when I do. Oh, God, _yes_ , Kat, just like that."

She was writhing back against him, unable to keep still and not wanting to try. His fingertips skimmed lightly over all her sensitive places, making her shiver and moan at the same time. He responded by nipping slightly at the side of her neck as one hand dropped down, tracing a path toward her navel. When he slipped the fingers between her legs, she shuddered hard, once, but then wrapped a hand around his wrist.

"Too much?"

"No." She turned around, taking the bottle from his hand. "But I want my turn."

She started just as he had, beginning at the nape of his neck and working her way toward his shoulders. There were still faint scars there, rows of parallel lines, but they'd be gone before too long. The skin directly over his spine was smooth, silky and tanned, sliding perfectly under her fingers. She ran her hands down, tracing the dips and twists, but with a start realized she had drawn imaginary shapes. Triangles. Lines, vivid and thick. She'd winced in sympathy when she'd seen those scars, unable to keep from reaching out to touch them, and then…

And then…

And _then_.

"Whoa. Hey." It was when she heard Gabriel's voice that she realized she was on all fours, gasping. The scars. They weren't supposed to be there, and they hadn't been. But she'd seen them as clearly as if they'd been real. Her shudders this time had a different source, and the pleasantly pounding water had become an onslaught of buzzing needles.

"Kat. _Katrina_." There was a squeak, and the water stopped. "Look at me. What's going on?"

"I…" she couldn't get her breath. There was no air. "Your back. Scars. He — they —"

"Okay. You're having a panic attack, aren't you." It wasn't a question. "Or a flashback. Or both. It's all right. Just focus on my voice. Do you know who I am?"

"Gabriel," she managed, blinking water and soap out of stinging eyes. "This universe."

"Good." She felt his hand on her shoulder, but couldn't keep from flinching away. "Sorry. Try to get your breath. What do you need me to do?"

"Just — I can't —"

"Breathe, Katrina. He's not here. I am, and I'm not going to hurt you."

Her head fell forward. "He didn't —"

"Oh, come on. I know he tricked you into bed with him. But don't think about that right now. Focus on my voice. You've taught me how to get people through panic attacks, remember? Stay with the person, keep talking to them, try to get them out of their head but don't force it too fast. What else?"

It took two breaths to get it out. "Don't brush it off or get irritated. Remind them it's temporary." She gulped more air. "Make sure they know they can leave if they want to. Repeat yourself, but gently." A wave of nausea came out of nowhere. "Oh, God, I'm going to —"

He scrambled out of the way just in time, catching her hair and stroking it as he held it out of her face. Afterward, she sank onto her heels, scrubbing at her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

Her breathing was still unsteady, but she was able to completely fill her lungs. The warm, steamy air was cleansing, but there was no mistaking the faint acrid smell. "I need to clean this up. Would you, ah —"

"Sure." With one last stroke of her hair, he stood up and stepped out of the shower. "But I'm not going far. Just come find me when you're ready."


	12. Chapter 12

_Star Trek_ and _Star Trek: Discovery_ are the registered trademarks and copyrighted property of CBS Corporation and CBS Television Studios. This fiction item is intended for entertainment purposes only. No compensation has been received or will be accepted for it, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended or should be implied.

* * *

 **Know Thyself  
** _Chapter Twelve_

* * *

He was in her kitchen, a towel around his waist, pacing back and forth between the warmer and the sink. There was a jumble of tea boxes on the counter, though the mug he carried smelled of coffee, and she'd noticed that their clothes had been picked up and dumped into the 'cycler.

"You all right?" she asked from the door.

"I should be asking you that. Wait a minute." When he turned back toward the warmer, she got a clear view of his back. Taking a deep breath, Katrina crossed over to him and slipped her arms around his waist so that she could press her face against the smooth skin between his shoulder blades.

Gabriel froze in mid-motion.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, dropping a light kiss onto his back. _See it_ , she told herself. _There are no scars._

There was a pause before he finished reaching for the warmer. "I told you. Don't be. Here." He pressed a mug into one of her hands. "Peppermint tea, for your stomach."

"Thanks." She took a long drink, relishing both the warmth and the taste. "But I'm still going to apologize."

"Why?"

"I'd hoped to spare you from ever finding out what happened."

Turning around, he took her free hand and laid it on his hip. "I knew in the shuttlecraft, Kat. 'Stiff and frigid,' remember? Except _he's_ wrong." The word was almost an epithet. "You're not like that, which means something else had to've happened." His lips quirked. "That, or some part of you knew it wasn't me even then. I'd like to think that, anyway."

She laughed, a single huff. "Sounds like your ego's back."

"Never left. Just took a long nap." He smoothed the collar of the light robe she'd slipped into after coming out of the bathroom. "Look, I know it's not my business, but I've still got to ask. Are you talking to anyone? Working through this?"

"Yeah." She dropped her eyes, focusing on the inside of the mug before she took another sip. "Every other week, but I imagine we'll go back to every week after this."

"Hey." Curling a hand under her chin, he tipped her face up toward his. "C'mon. You can look me in the eye. There's nothing to be ashamed about here, remember? How many times have you had to tell me that recovery goes at its own pace? As long as it is going, that's all that matters."

Hearing her own words repeated back to her was almost as warming as the tea. "I'm surprised you remember. I never can tell if you're listening or not."

"I always listen to you."

"Flattery gets you nowhere, especially when it's false." But her shoulders were relaxing.

"Oh, I don't know. Flattery's gotten me farther than you might think. L'Rell believed every word — oh, _damn_ it." He was the one who dropped his eyes now. "Of all the examples I could've used."

"It's going to happen from time to time."

"I know. But it's still hard for me too." He looked away for a moment, covering it with a sip from his own mug. "There were scars on his back, weren't there? That's what you set you off. But you seemed fine when you looked at my scratches on the Klingon ship."

"It was only for a moment," she explained, "and I was in survival mode. Not to mention worried about you. You've never flinched away from my touch before, so when you did…" she trailed off, closing her eyes and wrapping both hands around her mug to stop them from shaking. "It scared me, to see you so badly traumatized."

"Kat." He cupped her cheek, but she shook her head. This was already hard enough.

"You don't have to tell me the rest," he continued after dropping his hand. "Not unless you think it'll help."

"It might, a little. Yeah, he has scars. Deep ones, in a pattern. Someone did that to him deliberately." She had to stop for a breath. "If I'd been thinking clearly, I would've known better than to touch them. You don't do that when you suspect PTSD. But like I said, you don't flinch away from me, and we'd just…and I thought…"

"Easy. Take your time."

"The next thing I knew, his hand was around my throat and there was a primed phaser in my face." Her voice was shaking now. "If he hadn't come out of it on his own, I don't know if I'd have been able to defend myself."

"God." He exhaled hard. "And yet you've still let me touch you. Even reached out to me, when you thought I needed it. You're so strong."

Her face warmed. "It's nothing compared to what you went through."

"You know better than that," he countered. "You've told me a million times that some things can't be compared. I'd like to hug you."

Setting her now-empty mug onto the counter, she stepped forward into his arms, resting one ear over his heart so that she could hear its familiar beat. He kissed the top of her head, holding tight, saying nothing but still communicating volumes. Katrina closed her eyes, exhaling and trying to clear her mind. This was another moment that was meant to be experienced instead of analyzed.

* * *

Several hours later, Katrina was startled awake. Gabriel's arm was a warm weight around her waist, and his breathing was soft and even. Not wanting to disturb him, she kept still while trying to figure out what had alerted her.

There'd been no unusual sounds, no flashes of light. The air smelled and felt normal. She wasn't exhibiting any of the clinical signs she tended to show when she'd had a nightmare. It would be a few more hours before her alarm went off.

Behind her, Gabriel shifted position, his breathing hitching for a moment. They didn't usually sleep in this position; instead he generally turned his back to her and pulled her arm around him, cradling a hand against his chest. But he'd shaken his head as they'd drifted off earlier, after their quiet conversation and soft kisses had subsided. _Not this time, Kat_ , he'd murmured. _Not until you're ready._

Could that be what had gotten her attention?

In that case, she decided with a deep inhale, she could let it go. For that matter, there didn't have to be a reason at all. Sometimes people simply woke up in the middle of the night.

As she let the breath out, Gabriel's arm twitched, and he made a soft humming noise before pressing a little closer. His face found its way into her hair, and she felt his lips rest against the back of her neck. It wasn't quite a kiss; he wasn't trying to start anything. But there was still something just a bit too precise and deliberate about the move.

"You're awake," she whispered.

The arm around her waist tightened. "Yeah. Sorry to bother you."

"You're not a bother." She turned onto her back so she could see his face. "Everything all right?"

The street lamps outside cast just enough light to let her see the nod. "Just not used to a bed this comfortable."

"What is it, the quiet? The temperature? We can change —"

"Everything's fine. I'm just not used to a regular mattress, after spending so much time in bunks." He traced the side of her cheek. "Or what it's like not to wake up alone." His fingers slipped down to trail along her jaw. "God, it's so good to see you."

"Even if things didn't quite go the way you thought they would?"

"What are you talking about? Things went just fine." He followed the comment up with a long, slow kiss. She let herself get lost in it, in the way his hair slid like silk under her palms, in the warmth of his touch, in the way their bodies fit together as if designed that way. _Stop thinking, Katrina._

His lips trailed across her face, kissing her eyelids, the tip of her nose and then moving to one temple. "I hear those wheels spinning. What'cha thinking, Doc?"

"Same thing you are: how much I've missed this." She sighed. "And wondering what comes next."

"Does anything specific need to?"

It was tempting, but… "You know better. Heck, I don't even know how long you're going to be here. Or where you're staying while you are."

"Few days," he answered. "Not long enough to be worth finding a place, so I just got a hotel room downside of Spacedock."

"You still have your house on Altair VI anyway," she pointed out. That had been the _Buran_ 's official home port, and she'd loved the place he'd found. It was in an older part of the colony and was built with solid plaster walls under a transparent ceiling. There had been several nights when they'd simply curled around each other and watched the stars.

That was when she realized Gabriel had stiffened again. "What?"

"I don't have that place anymore." His tone had gone flat. " _He_ sold it and used the credit to finance some kind of a search. I don't know what for. Probably won't, until he's back in custody and under questioning."

"I thought he'd vanished without a trace. Even Starfleet stopped looking, didn't they?"

"Yeah, I guess that's the official word." He held up a hand to forestall her answer. "But I'm not here to talk about him. You and I have better things to do."

"Oh, we do, do we?" she asked, letting her voice drop to a purr. "I take it there's something you have in mind?"

"Maybe." He dragged the word out as his fingers traced the lapel of her robe. "Would it be so terrible?"

"I don't know. Depends on what, exactly, you're thinking about doing."

He chuckled, a low rumble, as he moved his hand over to trace the edge of one breast through her robe's thin fabric. "Easier to show you than tell you."

"Gabriel," she gasped, shivering from the goosebumps his touch had left behind. "Are you sure?"

"Morning's still a while yet. We can take it slow." His hand stopped, the thumb just shy of her nipple, leaving her panting. "Unless you'd rather not."

"No, I would," she managed. "It's just —"

"Shh." His lips covered hers as he untied her robe. "We'll stop if it gets to be too much. For either of us."

* * *

"You could stay here," she told him the next morning as she finished fastening her uniform jacket. "Instead of a hotel, if you wanted to. Your palm print's still programmed into the door."

"Is it, now?" Gabriel stretched his legs out under the table that held their breakfast dishes. "You never deleted it?"

"Never got around to it."

"Sounds like denial to me," he quipped, letting his gaze trace downward across her body. "That you didn't like the thought I might never come by again."

"I didn't," she answered him, crossing over to drop a kiss on the top of his head. "What do you say?"

His lips pursed in thought, though his eyes kept dancing. "Well, your interface and comm console are better quality than the hotel's."

"I knew it," she told him. "You only looked me up so you could get better systems access."

"Really? You think it's your systems I was after?" He caught her hands before she could move away. "Actually, you're right, since you didn't specifically say _comm_ systems. Did you?"

She laughed. It felt so good, so right, to be trading lighthearted barbs with him again. That they were doing it in her kitchen, with him not even completely dressed, made it even better.

"Just don't stay inside working all day," she said. "You're supposed to be taking some downtime."

"I know." He pulled her down into his lap and brushed his mouth against hers. "What time do you get off duty?"

"Sixteen-thirty, but we have staffing on Thursdays. It's not unusual for me to end up there until at least eighteen hundred." She linked her hands behind his neck, resting her forearms on his shoulders. "Of course, I could be convinced to push for leaving on time today, if I had the right incentive."

"Is that what you're after? An incentive?"

"You have any to offer?"

With a laugh of his own, he stole another kiss. "How about I fix you something special for dinner? I know how you work, Doc, so let's assume seventeen hundred. That gives me ten hours, which is be more than enough time to fit that in after getting my stuff back and finishing all my secret hacking."

"Secret hacking?" she teased. "On _my_ console? Should I be worried about a visit from Internal Investigations?"

The light faded from his eyes, although he was still smiling. "It was a joke, Katrina."

"So was my question." But something about his demeanor wasn't quite right. She leaned back, studying his face. "You are planning to behave yourself, aren't you? What are you after?"

"Mm. Just doing some research." His hands traced the line of her waist, but his eyes were focused somewhere behind her shoulder. "Is there a sign-on code I should know?"

"Not for standard access." She stood up, considering him. "You didn't answer my question. What do you need the console for?"

He still didn't quite meet her eyes.

"Gabriel?" she prompted, all laughter gone from her tone.

"It's nothing you need to worry about."

"Nothing I need to worry about?" she repeated, incredulous. "When I'm the one who's held responsible for any activity on my console?"

"Look," he said, "if it bothers you that much, I'll just work from the hotel and check out late, okay? The dinner offer's still —"

"Don't try to distract me!" she interrupted, trying and failing to keep from raising her voice.

"I'm not!" he shot back, raising his voice in return. "I just can't talk about the specifics."

"Really?" Taking a deep breath, she forced her fists to unclench. "You're forgetting I'm still in Starfleet. Or are you?" she continued, as understanding hit her. "Since that means I have a hard-wired system instead of a hotel's virtual connection. Would you have even looked me up otherwise?"

He shot to his feet. "That wasn't fair!"

"But finding me for no other reason than to use my access is?"

"That's not what I was doing, damn it!" His face was flushed. "And I've told you the truth this whole time."

"The truth?" She laughed, but this time, it was bitter. "Only if you ignore the lies by omission! Damn you, Gabriel, how could you? I thought we were done with using each other!"

"Now, wait just a minute —"

"Get out," she said, voice shaking from her effort to make it icy. "I'll make my own dinner tonight."

"Kat." He held out his hands, and she couldn't tell if the expression on his face was anger, panic or something else entirely. "Calm down. Please. Let's don't do this."

Her temper snapped. "God damn it, I said _out!_ Now!" She shook her head. "I knew this was all too good to be true. You're no better than he is, the way you use people!"

His hand slammed against the door sill. "Oh, fuck you! I am _nothing_ like him and you know it!"

"Sure could fool me!"

She hadn't seen him this angry in a long time. For a long moment, she was wildly afraid that he might start breaking things, but then he screwed his eyes shut and took several sharp breaths. Even then, even after he'd mouthed a count to ten in at least three languages, his voice was still flat and tight. "You really want to know why I looked for you? It was so I could ask you to come with me! But I guess that _was_ too good to be true, wasn't it?"

"I'm still on active duty," she snapped. "And you're still here."

"Still on active duty," he repeated, tweaking her rank insignia. "Still sticking with Starfleet, even after they've done this to you. What a shame. The Katrina Cornwell I came up with wouldn't have confused loyalty to Starfleet and loyalty to the Federation."

"I said," she bit out, "you're still here. Get. Out."

He shook his head as he stepped out into the corridor. "At least I'm not pretending I'm not angry with the system."

"I am not," she growled, "angry at the system. Any part of it. Including Starfleet."

"Right. If that's what you need to believe, go right ahead. For as long as you can, anyway." Then, after another shake of his head, he stalked away.


End file.
